A Mommy for Christmas by Caroline Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

lashes there, no wide-open soft baby blues, just sharp shards of toffee slicing through him assessingly.
    Not always, though. Sometimes—like when she’d been in his house, watching cartoons with Rory, or after he’d painted the room and she’d lifted her hand and touched his hair—then her eyes had been soft and warm and—
    No. She was his boss, and he’d do well to remember it. And, please, God, nothing would happen tonight to shake her faith in his ability or make her question giving him the job…
    Â 
    â€˜Freya, I have to go, darling.’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Yes. I’m sorry, sweetheart. We’ll do something lovely at the weekend.’
    â€˜Not go!’ she sobbed, clinging to him, and he handed her, screaming, to his mother, ran down the stairs and walked out of the door, blinking back the tears that had come from nowhere.
    Her wails followed him out to the car, and he shut the door and started the engine to drown out the heart-rending sound. She’d get used to it. The trouble was they’d had too much time together, and she wasn’t used to him leaving her. She’d stop crying soon. She’d probably stopped already.
    Â 
    â€˜Penny for them.’
    He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘Oh, nothing, Jo. Freya was a bit miserable when I left her,’ he confessed.
    â€˜Freya?’
    â€˜My daughter.’
    â€˜Can’t your wife comfort her?’
    He looked at the SHO, her eyes red with exhaustion as they snatched a much-needed coffee in a quiet moment, and for some reason—tiredness, probably—he told her about Beth. Nothing much. Very little, really. The bare bones, but it was enough.
    â€˜That’s such a shame. I’m really sorry.’
    â€˜Yeah. Thanks. My mother’s with them, so it’s not like leaving them with a stranger.’
    â€˜But kids are funny. She’ll get used to it, though.’
    His pager sounded, then Jo’s, and he sighed and glanced at the little screen. ‘Finish your coffee. I’ll go down to A and E and see what we’ve got. I’ll page you if we need Theatre.’
    He made his way to A and E, and found Tom Whittaker, the consultant on duty, in majors. He was working on a young man, inserting a second IV line, and James glanced at the monitor and frowned at the blood pressure.
    â€˜Blunt abdominal trauma—we haven’t done a DPL but he’s hypovolaemic. I think you’ve got time to get him upstairs, but not much else. He’s crashing. Apparently he’s been kicked.’
    â€˜Charming. Right, let’s get him stabilised and we’ll take him into Theatre. I’ll page Jo and get her primed.’
    â€˜The police’ll want to talk to him.’
    â€˜Well, we’ll have to make sure we keep him alive, then,’ he said drily.
    They set up fluids and then sent him off on his way to Theatre. Following the trolley, James paused at the door and turned to Tom.
    â€˜Are you OK?’ he asked, looking at him keenly, and Tom gave a wry smile.
    â€˜Ah, I just hate violence. Bit too close to home.’
    James tilted his head questioningly, and Tom went on, ‘I was stabbed here by a patient last year—in April. I nearly bled out. It’s still a little fresh in the mind.’
    A year ago last April. The month his own life had fallen apart. It was, as Tom said, still a little fresh in the mind.
    â€˜I can understand that,’ he said. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll keep you posted on this one.’
    â€˜Do that.’
    It was touch and go, once they’d opened him up, but there was no point in calling Kate. She wouldn’t have got there in time, and anyway he and Jo could manage.
    Just about.
    Jo’s surgical skills were slight, but she was a fast learner and she did as she was told without question, which meant he could rely on her. Always an asset in a crisis.
    He removed the man’s