A Sheikh To Capture Her Heart. Meredith Webber
his team was doing, but the two strands needed to be studied separately.
Keanu pulled up outside the bure and came around to help Harry inside.
But he sat for a moment, wondering if he might not be better off going up to the lab, making himself useful.
Or would he be a nuisance to his ‘minions’, as Sarah Watson had described them?
Of course he would, limping and still in some pain as he was. Besides, meticulous research work was not his thing—he was far too impatient.
Though not in surgery …
‘Thanks, Keanu, I can hop from here,’ he said, waving away the man’s assistance, his traitorous mind thinking of the last person who’d helped him inside the building.
Maybe it was lemons, not vinegar—or something a little tarter …
Limes?
Hobbling up the two steps, his foot still in pain, he shook his head at his stupidity. Sarah had made her feelings clear when she’d let fly about his behaviour, neither could he have failed to feel the contempt in her words.
Deserved contempt?
Probably!
Forget the woman!
Easier said than done.
Women usually lingered pleasantly in his head, small, special moments of past relationships stored neatly away like boxes in a storeroom in his brain.
But this woman …
No way she’d stay in a box!
Perhaps because they hadn’t had a relationship.
They’d been nothing more than ships that had passed in the night!
She’d been pregnant. She obviously had a family—husband and child—or at least the child.
So why the job of flying surgeon?
She’d be home, what, one week in four or five? Hardly a good arrangement for family life.
And none of his business …
Sarah loved operating in the small but brilliant theatre at Wildfire. Double-glazed windows let in natural light while allowing the room to be airconditioned, and through them she could see the tangle of treetops and vines in the rainforest that ran up the hill behind the hospital.
Added to which Sam was an excellent assistant, competent in his own right to perform routine operations but unable to take time out of his busy schedule to do regular surgical work. Hettie, the head nurse, and Caroline both enjoyed theatre nursing so, with Ben, she had a great team.
The patient was sedated, breathing through an endotracheal tube, and Sarah was about to begin when she sensed, rather than saw, another person enter the room.
Sensed who it was, too.
‘Glad you felt well enough to come up,’ Sam said cheerfully to the newcomer, who was still somewhere behind Sarah as she lifted a scalpel off the tray, ready to begin. ‘It’s not often we can show off our theatre to someone who’s seen the best.’
‘Thank you for inviting me.’
The deep voice reverberated down Sarah’s spine, and she had to focus on the lines she’d drawn on the patient’s neck and breathe deeply for a moment to steady her nerves.
Sam glanced at her, the retractors in his hand, ready to begin, while Hettie shifted a little impatiently, ready to cauterise tiny blood vessels.
Sarah began, although a tiny portion of her mind was protesting that it was her theatre right now and she could ask him to leave.
When the hospital boss had invited him?
She focussed fully on the patient, cutting into the throat in a crease in the woman’s neck so the scar would be next to invisible. The parathyroid glands lay directly behind the thyroid, so at the forefront of her mind her brain was locating and isolating them so they wouldn’t be damaged.
The area was also filled with important nerves and blood vessels, not to mention the larynx, just above the gland, so it was easy to lose herself in the meticulous work, excluding all outside factors.
Three hours later the glands had been removed and Sarah was checking they’d cauterised all the blood vessels in the incision.
‘I’ll close for you if you like,’ Sam offered, and, knowing how much he enjoyed being part of the surgery, Sarah stepped back, only too happy to let him finish the job.
‘Do you want a drain in place?” he asked, and she checked the open wound again.
‘No, it’s clean,’ she said. ‘Good job, team.’
She crossed the theatre towards the washrooms, stripping off her gloves and gown and dumping them in a bin by the door. Still clad in the highly unflattering green hospital scrubs, she turned to push her way through the door, finally catching sight of the unexpected onlooker.
He’d obviously been masked as he’d stood outside the sterile area of the theatre. Now the white strip of paper hung around his neck, resting on the collar of a dark blue polo shirt that clung to a chest any athlete would be proud to display.
And just why had she been looking at his chest?
To avoid looking at his face?
Probably!
But what was it about the man that drew her eyes?
More than her eyes … Her senses.
Forget him!
She felt strongly about his opting out of the world of paediatric surgery. From all she’d seen and read, he’d been truly gifted.
And he’d made her cry!
Twice!
So why was she even thinking about him?
She stripped off her clothes, showered, and pulled on a pair of white slacks and a black and white striped tee that was old and faded but very soft and comforting. Pushing her feet into sandals, she went out the back door of the changing room and along the corridor to the rear of the hospital, heading for her villa.
Ben was in charge of their patient now, and would keep an eye on her in the recovery room. Sarah would see her in the morning.
The first thing she saw as she walked into the villa was the jug from Harry’s bure—the jug she’d carried away with her as she’d fled the man’s taunt.
Well, he was up at the hospital with Sam right now, so she’d duck down to the resort and leave it outside his door. She grabbed her hat, a large droopy-brimmed black creation, off the hook by the door.
The ducking down to his island home would have worked if he hadn’t overtaken her as she strolled down the track, admiring the beautiful, lush gardens and isolated bures.
Finding he’d lost interest in the hospital once Sarah had departed, Harry made his way across the airstrip and onto the track that led through the resort.
The figure striding ahead of him was instantly recognisable despite the floppy black hat covering her glorious hair.
Glorious hair?
He really was losing it with this woman …
This woman he’d hurt when he’d hit out at her.
Unforgiveable, really.
‘Going my way?’
She started at his voice, but perhaps because it was such a corny thing to say she also smiled and held up the jug.
‘Returning your property, but now you’re here I can give it to you.’
She turned towards him, pushing the jug into his hands, their fingers touching, time suspended.
‘Have lunch with me?’
The