Love Without Measure. Caroline Anderson

       CHAPTER ONE

      ANNA heard his laugh first, a deep, rich chuckle that made the corners of her mouth curl involuntarily and softened the lines of tiredness around her eyes.

      Laughter could convey many things, she thought—happiness, amusement, joy, even scorn and derision. This man’s laugh was sheer enjoyment, full of warmth and humour. It was the laugh of a man glad to be alive, and she sensed he was also comfortable, a man at ease with himself and the world.

      It was also a big laugh, and she knew before she turned the corner that his body would match it. Even so, her first sight of him made her breath catch, and she faltered.

      He was tall, his body lean and rangy, with wide, square shoulders and long legs; he was leaning against the wall, his white coat held back by the hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, amply displaying his narrow hips and taut, flat stomach. One knee was bent and the sole of his shoe was propped casually against the wall at mid-calf.

      He was deep in conversation with Jack Lawrence, the A and E unit consultant, and as she watched his mouth opened again and his head tipped back. The laugh rippled round her again, and she felt a shiver start deep inside. Who was he?

      The new senior registrar, she realised. Patrick something. At least he looked confident. They had been plagued by a recent houseman who had been a total pain, and losing their previous and excellent SR Ben Bradshaw to an unknown quantity could have been very bad news. Hopefully this guy would pass muster, as a doctor anyway. As a man, there was no question.

      She forced herself to walk towards them, confused by the sudden speeding of her heart. This was crazy—he was just a colleague! Probably, please, God, safely married like Ben.

      He looked completely relaxed and thoroughly at home, which was quite remarkable considering he had only started on the unit ten minutes ago. That laugh found its way up from his throat again, teasing the air with its joyful sound. Anna’s mouth curved involuntarily.

      As she approached Jack looked up with a smile and held out his arm towards her, drawing her into their circle.

      ‘Anna, I want you to meet Patrick Haddon, our new SR. Patrick, this is Staff Nurse Anna Jarvis, Kathleen’s second in command.’

      He shrugged away from the wall, standing straight at last, so she could see how large he really was, and took his hands out of his pockets as he turned towards her.

      The light caught the dull gleam of a gold band on the ring-finger of his left hand, and her breath eased out in a sigh of relief—relief that felt curiously like disappointment. He was married. She was conscious of the silly smile still lurking round her mouth, and forced it into a smile of welcome. His own mouth tipped into an answering grin, and she felt something kick under her ribs. ‘Hi,’ she managed, a touch breathlessly.

      She took the proferred hand, noting almost absently its dry warmth and firm grip. It was his eyes which had her attention, though; they were a warm, deep brown, rich and full of humour, and yet still gentle. She had the feeling he could see into her soul. It was a most uncomfortable sensation, and yet curiously she didn’t feel threatened. It was only uncomfortable because it was so unexpected.

      ‘Hello, Anna,’ he said quietly, and his voice seemed to resonate deep inside her, rippling out into the cold, quiet reaches of her loneliness.

      No! He was married! She dropped his hand, the contact suddenly too much to cope with. ‘Welcome aboard, Dr Haddon,’ she replied, managing to find the social niceties despite the strange sensations in the pit of her stomach. She turned towards the other man. ‘Jack, have you seen Kathleen?’

      ‘She’s in the end cubicle with a fracture. If you go and give her a hand I’ll be along in a minute, once I’ve sorted Patrick out.’

      ‘Thanks.’ She turned and walked away, conscious of those searching eyes following her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she had to force herself not to run.

      As she turned into the cubicle she risked a glance back. He was still watching her, his eyes steady, a thoughtful look on his face.

      She went behind the curtain, her heart thumping. Not a flirt, she prayed. Please, God, not a flirt. Sexual harassment was the one thing Anna hated above all else, particularly when it came in the form of a flirting playboy, and most especially when he was married. She found herself feeling suddenly sorry for the wife she had dreamed up for him.

      How must it feel to catch a man like that just to discover he was a will-o-the-wisp? She dismissed the memory of those eyes, far from flirting, just gently assessing, and seeing far too much for her peace of mind. She would think of him as a flirt. That way he would be easily dismissed, pushed to the back of her mind, not worth the time of day.

      Kathleen looked up from the trousers she was easing off