The air whipped around Tamara as she stomped to the head of the bed.
I’m light-headed and my chest’s tight, the panic’s rising, but otherwise I’m good to go.
‘Mrs Gowan...’ He tapped her notes. ‘This says you haven’t had any headaches recently, no unusual chest discomfort.’
‘Nothing, Doc.’
Tamara had some serious questions for him. He knew how her gaze could shine with wicked delight and hot anticipation, and how the brown shade could sparkle like hot chocolate. He’d seen fun and laughter twinkle in Tamara’s eyes for the first time that night two months ago. He’d also seen despair and sadness dull them at work when she thought no one was watching. There were many layers to this woman. Layers he wanted to probe and learn about, to peel back and reveal her depths. Now she was watching him like a hungry falcon.
Crack. His chest tightened. While his head lightened. He did not want Tamara knowing about this. She’d draw him in, get too close, want to fix him. They were going to be parents together. He couldn’t. Not when at any moment a heart attack might take him out of the picture, like it had Dad and his brother.
‘Are we transferring Mrs Gowan to the medical ward?’ Tamara knew damned well they weren’t until they had some answers to what’d happened to her. She was hitting him over the head with a sharp reminder to focus on his work. Strange how quickly things turned around. A short time ago he’d been helping her to pull herself together.
Conor swayed on his feet and fought the need to reach out for the bed to steady himself. He also ignored the way Tamara looked at him. Like he shouldn’t be here. ‘Right. I’ll arrange some blood tests before we go any further.’ He disappeared through the curtains without another word. Not the usual friendly, ‘take as long as you want’ Dr Maguire, but ‘I need to sit down before I fall down’ Dr Maguire.
He diverted directly into the next cubicle and stopped by the bed.
My chest’s too tight.
Those old memories of chest pain crashed through his mind.
My breathing’s all over the place.
He knew how to calm down by drawing long, slow breaths into his lungs, huffing them straight back out. Knew the muscles holding his chest would eventually let go their fierce grip.
I am not having a heart attack.
This was a panic attack. Simple as that. He knew those. Hadn’t had one for over a year. The tightness in his chest muscles wasn’t easing off. What if he was wrong? What if he deserted his child before it made its appearance?
‘Conor?’ Tamara stood in front of him, reaching for his arms. ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ she demanded.
Lifting his head far too fast, he growled, ‘Can’t a man have a moment to himself around here?’ He should’ve taken his time straightening up before answering her. Should’ve. Didn’t. Swaying, he grabbed for something to hold onto. Unfortunately, Tamara was the first stable thing within reach. Thing? Sorry. Nothing thing-like about her with all those curves she kept hidden under layers of baggy clothes.
‘Sit down.’ She tried to shove him onto the bed.
He pushed her hands away. ‘I’m fine,’ he ground out through a wave of panic. Not pain.
‘And I’m a monkey’s backside.’ She did those retorts so well. They could burn a man if he wasn’t careful.
‘I can honestly say I don’t agree with you about that.’ Focusing on annoying Tamara might help distract from the panic building relentlessly.
Her mouth flattened into a warning.
Quick, defuse her. ‘I’m overtired.’
‘So you said.’ Her brows came together into a dangerous frown. ‘I’m not buying it.’
Faster, man. Or next she’ll have the whole crew in here. ‘I ran in the Auckland marathon on Saturday.’ The frown didn’t soften. She was seeing right through his attempts to divert her, something she was obviously better at than him. ‘Throw in that busload of broken children and your news, it’s hardly surprising I’m a bit wobbly on my feet.’
At last. No more frown. Instead, those luscious lips that had once played havoc on his feverish skin were tight and uncompromising, while hurt stabbed at him from those eyes he couldn’t forget. Hurt and...? Disappointment. No, distrust. Like he’d let her down big time. Over what? Try not being honest with her. Right, like he’d tell her about his family history of cardiac problems right here, now. Going to have to sometime, though. That baby might already be in trouble.
‘Right.’ She snatched the patient notes out of his hand. ‘What blood tests did you want done on Mrs Gowan?’
‘CBC, electrolytes, LFTs. And a CRP.’
‘Right,’ she repeated, and stalked off, those shoulders almost meeting in the middle of her back and her chin shoved forward.
He could’ve added how he hadn’t slept much in weeks for thinking about her and that amazing body she never showcased in fitted clothes.
What was with her frumpy style of dress anyway? Surely that had nothing to do with what her ex had done? Most females would kill for a figure like Tamara’s. He hadn’t expected it and could still feel the wonder he’d known as he’d undressed her before caressing her from top to toe. And back again. It had been like unwrapping a gift he had asked for and finding something far more exciting. That, and how she’d reacted with blatant enjoyment to his lovemaking.
Sex. He did not make love. He had sex with willing women and said goodbye in the morning. No fault with that. He was saving a potential partner and any children they might have from a life-load of worry and fear.
Got that wrong, hadn’t he?
Slam. The clouds in Conor’s skull thickened, his muscles tightened. Breathe in, out. In, out. Still no pain. Not a heart attack. Relief flooded his tense body to loosen the tautness, push the fog in his head aside. Thank goodness for something. Stretching his arms high, he rolled his head in a circle to loosen the tension in his neck until finally he felt capable of functioning as a doctor again.
Blasted panic attacks. No accounting for when they made an appearance.
‘You all right?’ Kelli asked when he returned to the counter,
where Tamara was fiercely intent on entering details in a patient’s file on the computer.
‘Absolutely.’ A quick glance at the wall clock. Thirty minutes to go and he’d be out of there. Straight home, no stopping at the supermarket for food that would sit in the fridge until he threw it out next week. No, he’d put his feet up, chuck on a CD and order in something to eat. Probably fall asleep and wake up in the morning all stiff and achy. But at least his heart would be ticking along perfectly. The last traces of that panic that’d been overwhelming him had evaporated.
Twenty-nine minutes to go.
You and Tamara need to talk.
Double damn.
Conor snatched up the top file of waiting patients and stalked off to the waiting room. ‘Jason Grove?’
Twenty-eight minutes to go.
* * *
Tamara pressed ‘talk’ on her phone and held it to her ear.
‘Hello?’ came the voice she’d known all her life.
Surprising how her mother hadn’t put her name in her phone by now just so as she didn’t have to answer her calls. ‘Hi, Mum. Don’t hang up. Please. I’ve got something—’ Click. ‘Important to tell you.’ She stared at the far wall of her lounge. No surprise there. Shouldn’t have bothered trying. But seeing Mrs Gowan so happy when her daughter had raced into ED that afternoon, she’d wanted to talk to her own mother right there and then. Wanted to connect, to share about the baby, to be a family again.
Tamara slammed the phone onto the armrest of the recliner and stared off into nowhere. Her favourite place when everything was going pear-shaped.
Please, talk to me one day, Mum. I want to hear you say my name again. Could even do with one of your whacky hugs right about now. I know I screwed up but I don’t think all the blame was mine.
Huh? That was new. Of course it had been her fault. She’d been the one to trust Peter. Not the only one, as Kelli had pointed out. Dad had too, long before her.
Conor hadn’t freaked out or blamed her. He’d listened to her story and carried on like she wasn’t a complete waste of space. Was that why she’d tried to contact her mum tonight? Because he’d stirred up some hope inside her? Dangerous stuff. Especially when it came to her mother.