THE MAVERICK DOCTOR AND MISS PRIM/ABOUT THAT NIGHT... (7 page)

Her stomach rumbled loudly. What she wouldn’t give for pizza right now.

Evan was still talking.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted another doctor sent in.”

“No. Not right now. If things progress, then probably yes. But let’s wait until we have the lab results. You’re dealing with plane passengers and hopefully things are contained at our end.”

Her brain started to whirr. She couldn’t really understand why, in the midst of all this, part of his focus was on Sawyer. Surely Evan should just be grateful that she had any help at all? No matter how reluctant.

She rang off and stared at the phone. Her stomach rumbled again loudly. She didn’t have time to figure that out right now.

Along with many other things, it would have to wait.

CHAPTER FOUR

“S
AWYER
? A
RE
 
YOU
in here?” Callie stuck her head around the door into the darkened room. It was three a.m. and she could make out a heap bundled against the far wall, lying on a gurney.

The heap moved and groaned at her. “What?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered, searching the room for any other sleeping bodies. “Have you just got your head down?”

He swung his legs off the gurney and stood up, swaying a little. She walked across the room and put her arm on his. “I’m sorry, Sawyer. I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t,” he snapped.

She smiled at him. “Yes, you obviously were.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen to the kids?” It was almost as if his brain had just engaged.

She tightened her grip on his arm. “No. I’m sorry. Nothing’s changed. The kids are still pretty sick. Laura, one of the DPA nurses, is in with them now. I’ve kept Alison away, just like you said. She’s still down at the other end of the corridor in a room on her own.” She held up a paper bag and waved it under his nose. “She’s doing a great job, by the way. She got me banana and toffee muffins.”

“Oh, okay.” The words took a few seconds to sink in then he scowled at her. “What is it, then?”

“It’s Max Simpson, the chief of staff. It’s three a.m. and I’ve just realized I haven’t seen him yet. I’ve been so busy with things down here.”

She could see the realization appear in his eyes. He grimaced.

“What is it?”

“Yeah. I meant to speak to you about Max too. I sort of made an executive decision there.”

“You did what?” She was on edge again. What had he done now? He’d already broken protocol once. Had he done it again?

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Callie, I meant to talk to you earlier. Max is the reason I’m here.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“Max has prostate cancer. He’s undergoing chemotherapy—midway through a course. He’s immuno-compromised. So I told him he can’t be anywhere the possible threat of infection and he can’t be near anyone we immunize—including us.”

The words struck home. For a second she’d thought he was going to say something unreasonable—something to get her back up. Instead, Callie felt the tenseness ease out of her muscles. Another piece of the jigsaw.

“So, what? You’re covering for him right now?”

She could see the hesitation on his face. “Yes, I guess I am. Max was a real hands-on sort of guy. He dropped out of his clinical commitments a couple of months ago and has just been doing a few days’ office work a week. He wants to keep his hand in during his treatment but couldn’t manage any more. I was only supposed to be here for two weeks, covering someone’s vacation leave. But I met Max, he liked me and asked me to stay and cover his clinical work in the E.R. for a few months.”

She was trying to read behind the lines. Trying to understand the things that he wasn’t telling her. She couldn’t work this guy out at all.

Matt Sawyer’s reputation had preceded him. Apparently when his wife had died, he’d had the mother of all temper tantrums, telling everyone around him what he really thought of them. She could only imagine that Evan Hunter had been one of them.

But here he was describing how he was helping out a sick colleague. Someone he’d only met a few months ago.

Was it just everyone at the DPA he hated? Did he blame them for his wife’s death?

She could see him searching her face. Was he worried that she would be unhappy for him not putting her in the picture before now? Or was he worried she would actually see his human side? The side he’d tried to hide from her when he’d said his help had been a one-off event.

She wrinkled her nose at him. It was late and she was getting tired. Her defenses were weakening as she approached that hideous hour in the middle of the night when her body was screaming for her bed.

“I don’t get you, Matt Sawyer,” she whispered.

“What don’t you get?” He took a step closer. The lights in the room were still out and the only light was from the corridor outside, sending a warm, comfortable glow over them both. He’d changed into the regulation DPA pale pink scrubs. Pink on a man. Whose idea had that been? He made them look good, though. Kind of inviting.

He reached up and gave one of her wayward locks at little tug, a sexy smile crossing his face, “This hair of yours, it’s driving me crazy. I keep wanting to grab a pair of scissors and lop this off.”

Her hand reached up too, brushing the side of his face and touching his brown hair that was mussed up around his ears. “Likewise,” she whispered.

For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Callie had no idea what she was doing. She was in the middle of the biggest potential outbreak of her career, in a strange city, with no real idea of what could happen next. There was nothing in the plan about this. There was nothing that told you what to do when your colleague was sick and you had to take over the management of a situation like this. She needed a friend. She needed someone to reach out to.

“I saw your hand shaking earlier. Are you scared, Dr. Turner?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. No one else could possibly hear them.

“Scared?” she repeated. “Matt, I’m terrified.” She felt a whoosh of air come out of her lungs. It was the first time she’d said the words out loud. She’d spent the last twelve hours thinking them but she couldn’t have imagined actually saying them to someone. It was like laying herself bare. To a man she hardly knew. It had to be a recipe for disaster.

He raised one eyebrow. “Like I said earlier, we’re all scared. There’s not a person in this E.R. right now who wants to be here—except, of course, for a few DPA geeks. Most people would sell their right arm to get out of here.” He touched the side of her arm, running the palm of his hand up and down it. “Fear of the unknown is one of the most terrifying fears that there is.”

She nodded, knowing what he was saying was true. There was something soothing about his voice. Something reassuring.

Her hand touched the side of his cheek. He almost flinched. She could see it. But he stood firm, his pale green eyes fixed on hers. “I can’t work you out, Matt Sawyer. You’re supposed to be a bad boy—a rule-breaker. Mr. Nasty. But right now I’m seeing a whole other side to you.”

He wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?” She sniffed the air around her. “I can’t smell anything.”

“It’s weird. Like strawberries or fruit or something.”

She smiled. It was proof that they were standing too close to one another. “It’s raspberries. It’s my shampoo.”

He moved even closer, his nose brushing against the top of her head as he inhaled again. “Almost good enough to eat,” he murmured.

She couldn’t wrap her head around all this. Maybe it was the time of night and her befuddled brain. She’d heard that Sawyer had lost it after his wife had died, had finished treating the patients he’d had to, had roared at everyone and walked off the job. He’d refused to make contact with anyone after that.

But here he was. Obviously struggling. But here.

His hand reached up and tightened around hers. There was an edge to his gaze. A shield going up right before her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t
know
that I want to know anything. I guess I just want to find out for myself. If I’d listened to Evan Hunter, I wouldn’t have spoken to you at all when I got here, but I like to go on instincts.”

“And what are your instincts telling you, Callie Turner?”

Wow. What a question. Because right now her instincts were telling her she was acting like a seventeen-year-old girl rather than a twenty-nine-year-old woman.

He moved their hands from the side of his cheek to resting both of them on her breastbone. Could he feel her heart beating against the skin on his hand? A man who had seen her virtually naked a few hours before?

What was she thinking about? Outside, down at the desk, there were a million things that she should be doing. Being in here, with Matt Sawyer, wasn’t on the list that she’d prepared earlier.

But the words came too easily, “My instincts are telling me that Callum Ferguson is one of the wisest men I’ve ever known. And if he had hope for you, then maybe I should too.”

He was even closer now. She could feel his breath on her cheeks, warming her skin. He bent forward, his lips brushing the side of her ear. It felt like the most erotic touch she’d ever experienced. “What if I told you I’m still a bad boy? What if I told you I left my last two jobs in Alaska and Connecticut before they could fire me?”

And then it happened. Callie just let go. Just like she’d done on the phone earlier with Evan. She didn’t think, she just acted. She spoke the words that came instantly into her brain.
What was happening to her?
“I’d say you found problems in the places you were working. I’d say you told them what was wrong and how to fix it. I’d say they probably didn’t like it.”

He tilted his head to one side, the lazy smile still fixed on his face. “I knew you were young. I thought you didn’t know anything. I thought you only followed rules.”

His words were supposed to be teasing but something else happened.

Something flooded through her veins. Adrenaline, laced with fear.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t be in here with him. It was compromising her ability to think straight.

He was right. Following rules was what she knew. Following rules was
safe
.

Last time she hadn’t followed the rules it had ruined her life.

No. It had ruined her
sister’s
life.

So, getting involved with a rule-breaker?

Not an option.

His phone buzzed, in that gentle, quiet way it did when it was switched to vibrate instead of ring. She sprang backwards. “I need to go, Matt.” She pushed the door open, flooding the room with light.

“Wait!” He grabbed her arm as he glanced at his phone. “I’m guessing here as I’m not sure of the number but I think it’s my sister. She’s the only person I know who would be so persistent.”

“Your sister?” The words cut through her like a knife. Her back-to-reality jolt was instant. “You have a sister?”

Something had just happened. And Sawyer didn’t understand it. One minute they’d been almost nose to nose in the darkened room—as if something was about to happen. The next minute he had almost seen her building the wall around herself.

He had no idea what had made her just snap like that.

Miss Hoity-Toity had looked almost inviting a minute ago. For a second he’d almost thought about...

No. Not possible. He didn’t think like that any more. Well, not unless he was in a bar and halfway through a bottle.

But for a few seconds she’d looked vulnerable. She’d looked like someone who could do with a hug. And he wasn’t the hugging type.

And that smell from her. The raspberry shampoo. More enticing than any perfume he’d ever smelt.

It was weird what confined spaces could do to a person.

She was still looking at him with those too-wide eyes. What was with her? What was the big deal?

“Yes, I’ve got a sister.”

“I meant to ask you if there was anybody you wanted to notify that you had been quarantined. Haven’t you told her what’s happened?”

His eyes fixed on the floor. This wasn’t going to be pretty. “My sister’s called Violet. Violet Connelly.” He waited for the penny to drop.

And it did.

“Violet Connelly’s your sister?” Her voice rose, filling the quiet room.

He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms. He was well aware he was trying to look laid back, but he was feeling anything but. All of a sudden he was hit by a wave of emotions that he didn’t want to deal with. He tried to focus on the face in front of him. “Yes. Why so surprised?”

“Violet Connelly is your sister?”

“You’ve already said that and I’ve already answered.”

She wrinkled her nose. It made her look kind of cute. “Why hasn’t she said anything? I’ve never heard her mention you and I’ve been at the DPA for the last three years.”

“I’m the family black sheep.” Explanations weren’t really his thing. It seemed the easiest solution.

“Bull. Violet’s not like that at all.”

Okay. Maybe not.

“And why don’t you have your sister’s number in your phone?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been out of touch for a little while.”

“With your sister?” Her voice rose in pitch. “How can you be out of touch with your sister?” Little pink spots had appeared on her cheeks.

“She has a different name. How come?”

“So now you’re getting personal?”

“Don’t get smart, Sawyer. You’ve just told me a woman I’ve worked alongside for the last three years is your sister. Violet’s a sweetheart and she’s never mentioned you once. Why?”

He shrugged. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. It was way too uncomfortable. And it was bringing up a whole load of guilt that he really didn’t want to consider. “It’s complicated.”

Now she looked angry. That middle-of-the-night woman angry. Never a good sign. “Don’t give me the
‘it’s complicated’
crap.” She raised her fingers in the air again. “Tell me why on earth she would keep something like that secret? Maybe Evan Hunter was right—maybe we should be looking a little closer at you.”

He could feel the pent-up anger build in his chest. His temper was about to flare. Here. In the middle of the hospital. In the middle of a crisis situation.

He turned and flipped on the light, walking over to the nearby sink and running the cold tap. He bent over and started splashing water on his face. How dared she? That was almost an implication that he was involved in this crisis situation.

This woman didn’t know him at all. Didn’t know anything but hearsay and gossip. If she knew even the tiniest part of him she’d know he’d do anything to get out of here.

He could feel the pressure building in his chest. Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d just reminded him how guilty he felt about pushing his family—and his sister—away? He felt as if a truckload of concrete had just been dumped on his head.