A Taste Of Italy. Fiona McArthur
‘Please, to the coffee.’ He followed her when she stood and moved into the kitchen and she put her hand up to halt him at the door. He kept coming until his chest touched her fingers, a wicked glint in his eye that warned he didn’t take orders easily either, but then he stopped.
She shifted her fingers quick-smart and tried not to recognise how good the warmth of his solid chest had felt beneath her palm. She needed at least three feet between them for her to breathe. ‘If you can make my den feel small you’ll crowd my kitchen. Just stay there and let me work.’
He lifted one brow but obediently leaned against the doorframe, relaxed but alert, and they were both aware he was capable of swift movement, if he wished.
She breathed out forcefully as she turned away. Thank goodness he’d stopped. The guy was too much of a man to ignore when he was this close and a powerful incentive to get her chore done quickly and move out of here.
Then he said quietly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, ‘If you are called in to work, who is here for your Jack?’ Was that censure in his voice? Disapproval?
It had better not be. Nobody disapproved of her mothering. She flicked him a glance and his face was serious. ‘We have an intercom between the houses and I switch it on for my father to listen in. Jack knows he can call for his grandfather if I’m not around and Dad takes him next door.’ She glared at him and pressed the button on the machine for espresso and the beans began to grind—like her teeth.
‘And what if Ben is called out?’ Still the frown when it was none of his business but then, suddenly, she remembered he’d had a recent fright himself. One she’d put her foot in at the wedding. She eased the tension that had crept into her neck.
Of course he’d be security conscious. She didn’t need to be so quick to take offence. ‘We don’t do the same nights on call,’ she explained. ‘That’s the beauty of a small town and friends who organise rosters between families.’
The aroma of fresh beans made her nose twitch with calmer thoughts and she forced herself to stay relaxed. The guy could make her nerves stretch taut like a rubber band ready to snap back and sting her.
He nodded and looked at her almost apologetically, as if aware he may have overstepped a boundary. ‘I begin to see the sense of this place.’
To her further astonishment he smiled and added, ‘Perhaps I am less surprised at my brother’s decision to spend half his time here.’
She had the feeling that could’ve been a huge admission for him but she didn’t pursue it. She didn’t want him to think it mattered to her. It didn’t. Really. Time for a subject change. The coffee spurted from the twin spouts and filled their cups and she turned with them in her hands to face him.
He didn’t move initially and she realised her hands were full. He could touch her if he wished. She was defenceless. Something told her he realised it too. She lifted her brows at him and waited.
He grinned and heaved himself off the doorframe and stepped back to allow her past him into the den.
‘See how I understand your look?’
She bit back her smile as she sat his coffee on the low table almost on top of another of those fundraising pamphlets. She shifted it and her eye was caught by the title.
“Wanted! Man Willing To Wax Chest For Fundraising.”
She had a sudden image of Leon and the gurgle of laughter floated up like the brown bean froth in the cup.
‘You find that funny?’
She shook her head and bit her lip. She handed him the flyer. ‘Lucky you’re not here for long.’
He looked down at the paper and grimaced. ‘And a man would do this?’
She couldn’t help her glance at his broad chest, a few dark hairs gathered at the neck. ‘They haven’t found a volunteer yet. Want to offer?’
‘No.’ He shook his head with a smile. ‘Though—’ he paused and eyed her ‘—it would depend on who is doing the waxing.’ The look he sent her left no doubt there’d be a price paid for the privilege.
Tammy felt the heat start low down, potent and ready to flame, like a hot coal resting on tissue paper. Yikes. She snatched the flyer from him and stuffed it behind a cushion on the sofa. ‘Do you have much to do with young babies in your hospital?’
He settled back with a hint of smile and left the topic, clearly amused by her pink cheeks. ‘No. Neonatal surgery is too specialised and we don’t have a neonatal intensive care. But perhaps we would need a special care nursery if the maternity wing went ahead.’
He leaned forward and she could tell he was weighing possibilities and scenarios. She could see the big businessman she’d mentally accused him of being before she’d known him better, before she’d been kissed by him perhaps. But she had no doubt that if such a venture could be successful, then Leon would be the man to do it.
‘These are all things to be taken into consideration if we opened a midwifery service. I’m sure a lot has changed since my obstetric rotation a decade ago. At the moment of birth, I mean.’
She could talk about that all day—and night. ‘You’re right. Things have changed a lot.’ She tried to imagine Leon as a young medical student, diffident and overawed like those she’d seen in her training, but he was too strong a personality for her to imagine him ever being daunted by setting. ‘I think the biggest change here is to keep the baby with the mother at all times from the moment of birth. Not separate in a cot. With emphasis on skin-to-skin contact for the first hour at least. At birth, we try not to clamp the umbilical cord for a few minutes either, unless we really have to.’
He nodded with a little scepticism. ‘If the baby requires resuscitation?’
‘Sure.’ She brushed the hair out of her eyes. ‘Though not always. It’s a little trickier but the latest studies have shown that not cutting the umbilical cord for at least three minutes after birth is beneficial, though perhaps not that long in resuscitation.’
His face said he couldn’t see how that would work so she explained more. ‘We can give oxygen and even cardiac massage on the bed with the mother and that allows us to keep the blood flow from the cord as well. We’ve had great success with it. But then all our babies that come through the centre are low risk so any problems they have at birth are usually transient and should be resolved fairly quickly.’
He looked unconvinced and she couldn’t help teasing him. ‘Or is this a little too radical for your maternity hospital idea?’
‘I’m always willing to see and hear of new ideas.’ He raised his eyebrows at her comment, so quick to respond to any negative feedback she gave him, but she had no time to go on before the phone rang.
She dug her mobile out of her pocket. It was Misty and she had to leave.
‘Sorry. I’m needed in birthing. You’ll have to go.’ Leon’s eyebrows rose haughtily and Tammy almost smiled. She could tell he wasn’t used to that. A woman had to go and he would be left cooling his heels.
He stood, though to say he did it obediently didn’t suit the way he complied. ‘You are not in awe of me at all, are you, Tamara?’
She didn’t have time for this, unfortunately. ‘Should I be?’ She switched on the intercom between the two houses. ‘I hope I haven’t jinxed us talking about resuscitation and healthy babies.’
She saw his mind switch to the medical urgency. ‘What was said?’
She gave him half an ear as she scooped up her keys. ‘On the phone? Misty’s concerned at the delay in second stage, and there’s some unease with the baby’s heart rate,’ she murmured as she closed the front door behind them both. ‘If it was bad she’d ship them out to the base hospital, but backup is always good when the back of your neck prickles. Do you want to come?’
He