Kitabı oku: «Their Marriage Miracle», sayfa 3

Scepticism clouded Sophie’s face, and her shoulders tensed. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I mean it. You have the sort of strong bone structure that most women would give anything to have.’ Reaching for the hand mirror she’d placed on Tom’s desk earlier, Fiona tentatively held it up in front of Sophie. Then she leaned over to run a fingertip across the girl’s right cheekbone. ‘See how high your cheekbones are?’ she asked, in a soft, but determined tone.

Sophie darted a glance at the mirror, looked away, despair filling her eyes, tears welling up.

‘And your skin—it’s so clear of blemishes. How do you manage to avoid pimples at your age?’

‘Guess I got lucky with something.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘But no one wants to look at me now. I’m ugly. You don’t know what it’s like.’

‘You’re right, I don’t.’ Fiona cringed at the anguish this young woman suffered. ‘But I know you’re not ugly. Forget that idea. Let’s really look at you. Take the mirror while I show you the real Sophie Clark.’

Fiona held her breath as she waited for the girl’s response. No one in the room moved. Then, just as Fiona sensed Tom about to intervene, Sophie snatched the mirror out of Fiona’s hand and held it too close to her face to really see herself.

‘You can’t show me anything new. I used to see this every morning when I got up, but I don’t look any more.’

Fiona held back the hug she wanted to give this girl—a hug to repair some of the damage done to her. Instead she twisted her chair around and sat beside Sophie. With her forefinger she pointed to the big blue eyes glaring back at her from the mirror.

‘Not many people’s eyes are so dark, almost navy in colour. Very attractive.’

Sophie blinked, stared at herself for a moment before looking away.

‘Your hair is shiny and healthy, and, I presume, naturally blonde. The matching eyebrows are a giveaway. And when you smile your whole face lights up. Did you know that?’

After a slight shake of her head the gap between Sophie’s face and the mirror increased fractionally. Fiona waited patiently as Sophie ran her tongue around her lips, attempted a small smile, and tried to watch her eyes.

With great care Fiona turned Sophie’s face so that they were looking at her right cheek. Then with a gentle movement she eased Sophie around to look at the left side of her face.

‘I can’t take the scar away, but I can make it a whole lot better. It’s unfortunate that the scar runs across the muscles rather than up and down. It will always show a little, and more so when you’re tired. I’m going to make the scar less obvious, and over the years it will fade a lot. With the help of make-up you’ll be able to hide it—if you want to.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I’m sure you don’t, but I’d like you to trust me to help you.’ She was asking a lot from a traumatised teen. Whoever had first operated on her injury had not done the best possible job, and now Sophie believed the result to be as good as it would ever get. ‘I can help, big-time.’

Sophie’s enormous eyes were glued to her, sizing her up, and she felt a jolt of shock as she realised this girl was mature beyond her years.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ Sophie acknowledged.

‘Good.’ Now Fiona couldn’t help herself. She hugged Sophie. ‘I’ll see you again in the morning. And if you have any questions at all, any time between now and then, even in the middle of the night, get your nurse to call me. She’ll know where to find me.’

‘Do I have to eat at the hospital?’ Sophie’s eyes were filled with a mischievous glint.

Not knowing this hospital’s protocol, Fiona looked to Tom for guidance.

‘As long as you have nothing to eat after eight o’clock tonight you can have whatever you like.’ Tom smiled at the girl. ‘But if you’re thinking of a fast food chain, forget it. The population here is hardly enough to support one of those outlets.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Jacob muttered as he stood up. ‘Show me a steak house and I’ll be happy.’

‘Dad! Not steak again.’ Sophie turned imploring eyes onto Tom. ‘There are takeaway places here? Aren’t there?’

Tom appeared to think about it, until Sophie stared him down.

‘There are a few.’ He pushed his sleeve back to look at his watch. ‘But of course, this is Hanmer Springs. They might’ve already closed for the night.’

‘Dr Tom, you’re so not fair.’

Fiona listened to the banter while watching Tom. He was at ease with Sophie, gently teasing her, diverting her mind from her operation. He would have been a great father. He had been a great father, who’d never got to see his son growing up. For both of them Liam was still five months old, as though stuck in a perpetual state of nappies and breast milk. Other children grew taller, learned to walk and talk, but not Liam. He’d never go to school, ride a bike, kiss a girl. Cot death had stolen him away, along with her heart. Along with Tom’s heart.

Her breathing grew tight. Her palms moistened. How she missed her darling boy. How she missed her marriage.

Had Tom ever thought about having another family? Her blood slowed. Why wouldn’t he? Then again, he had surrounded himself with a continuous stream of children. Were they his family now? That would be a shame. Tom was definite father material.

She bit down on her lip in an effort to distract herself from the ache that thought brought on. A long time ago she’d made up her mind never to take the risk of having more children. The thought of losing another child almost paralysed her, so nothing would ever change that decision. But she’d hoped Tom might have recovered enough to try again.

* * *

Tom returned from showing the Clarks out and made himself comfortable in a chair by propping his legs on the desk. He couldn’t get his head around the fact that after all this time Fiona was here, sitting opposite him in his office. It felt bizarre to be talking to her about patients, as though they hadn’t had all those years apart. He only had to reach across the desk and he’d be touching her.

Did he want to touch her? So far, every time he had, heated awareness of her had triggered a longing so deep it terrified him. Which meant the coming week would be an ordeal, because she was definitely forbidden territory.

So get back to being professional. Concentrate on why Fiona had come here. Think about the patients whose lives she would be making so much happier. ‘You did well with Sophie. It took me three visits to get that far with her. She’s had a difficult time coping.’

Fiona’s patience with the unhappy teen had surprised him. He had the feeling that she’d have sat with Sophie all night if necessary. But it hadn’t been necessary because of her empathy with the girl. Fiona seemed to intrinsically understand where Sophie was coming from, and what she needed from her plastic surgeon.

Patience had never been a part of Fiona’s make-up. Certainly not with him over the months following Liam’s death. She’d got so frustrated when he wouldn’t talk about it. At the time he’d been struggling to function enough to get out of bed every morning. In hindsight he could see that neither of them had known how to deal with what had happened. Neither of them had known how to give each other the compassion they’d needed to heal. They’d been too busy using it up on themselves.

Obviously time and events had taught her to stop and listen to people. Earlier he’d been wondering how she’d coped after they separated. He still didn’t know the answer to that, but from what he’d seen so far the result was impressive.

Looking at her, he was startled to see a warm glow colouring her cheeks as she replied, ‘Thank you. I see a lot of patients despairing because they think no one will want to look at them again. They mainly need listening to.’

How true. ‘Teenagers suffer especially. They’re so vulnerable when they perceive themselves to be different to their peers.’

‘Often their families and friends don’t know how to cope with the situation, which adds to their problems.’

Much as they’d both felt when they’d lost Liam, he realised. And they’d been adults. Both had been taken up with their own grief, unable to reach out to each other or anyone else. But he should have done more. ‘Especially those who try to help.’

A flicker of understanding sparked across Fiona’s face. ‘We didn’t manage very well, did we?’

His jaw clenched. ‘There wasn’t a manual.’ How did anyone know what to do? ‘I tried my best for both of us.’

‘We both did,’ she whispered. The colour drained from her cheeks. Pain flicked into her eyes.

The urge to hold her tight against him, to take that hurt away, swamped him. He longed to stroke her hair, craved her breath against his neck. He wanted to make her feel better. He focused instead on studying her, and was shocked to realise that the inherent sparkle in her eyes had flickered out, gone, replaced by a soul-deep tiredness. His chest tightened as he thought of all the pain she’d endured because of Liam’s death and the toll it had taken on her exuberant outlook on life. He looked closer at her drawn face. Was she unwell? Was she up to the job? Of course she was. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. That much he trusted.

Gravel crunching under tyres outside reminded him of the trip to the hot pools. ‘The haemophiliac patients and their families are waiting on the bus at the front door. They’re going to the thermal pools. We always send staff with them, and I like to tag along occasionally. It’s fun playing with the kids.’

‘I’ll see you later, then.’ Fiona shuffled files together, her face wistful.

‘Come with us. That way you’ll get really warm for the first time today.’ Now, why the hell had he suggested that when he needed to put space between them?

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’

There—problem solved. She wouldn’t be joining them at the pool. But the devil had hold of his tongue. ‘That’s easily fixed. There’s a shop next to the pools dedicated to swimming costumes.’ Fiona in a swimsuit? His gut clenched.

‘It’s very tempting.’

‘Then grab your purse, and a towel from my bathroom, and meet me at the front steps in five minutes.’ He watched her unfurl from the chair and leave his office. He squashed a spurt of fear. In no time at all she’d got under his skin, made him very aware of her. His banging heart seemed more than happy with her arrival. His head said the hospital needed her and that she was proving to be very good with her patients. Exactly what he wanted, demanded, from the specialists who came to work here.

But personally? What did he want? Friendship? Huh! Love? No way. The hell of it was that he didn’t have a clue.

Stick to keeping everything on a professional level, remember? Why did he feel he was already off track with that idea? Because now he worried that he’d find himself slipping back into the old habits of their previous life together. Like reaching out to touch her in quiet moments, or making eye contact to pass silent messages in crowded rooms.

Please, no. That would be like starting over, reliving those bleak days when they’d no longer been close enough to be like that. Fiona had left him without a word all those years ago. No warning, no chance to try talking her out of going. She’d just up and gone, leaving him stunned and hurt. He’d believed she’d eventually return, but she hadn’t. Not even to explain why she’d had to go.

His heart stuttered. He couldn’t lay all the blame on Fiona. The heavy guilt he’d managed to squash into a tiny ball deep inside now churned in his belly, threatening to break out. This time he might have to deal with it.

* * *

As the soft warmth of the tepid water seeped into Fiona’s chilled muscles she appeared relaxed for the first time since Tom had met her at the airstrip. Even the taut lines around her mouth had receded.

‘Coming along with us wasn’t such a bad idea, was it?’ He sat down on the edge of the pool beside her. Too close, but it would look silly if he moved now.

‘At least I’ve stopped shivering.’ She looked up at him, a hint of warmth in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes.

Funny how he’d never imagined Fiona in this setting with him, and yet now she was here she seemed to fit right in, as though she belonged. Goosebumps rose on his arms. Careful. That was his heart talking. He couldn’t trust those emotions when just seeing her still made him feel as though he’d been run over by a truck.

He swung around to scan the pool, found the children from the hospital at the other end clustered around Evan, one of the interns, who was organising them into teams.

‘What game can these kids play, considering they’ve got haemophilia?’ Fiona asked beside him.

‘There’s the problem. Contact sports are out, but how to stop them? We try to organise a version of volleyball, where each player has to stay within their designated space. See those squares painted on the bottom of the pool? The local council did that for us. But it’s hard to keep the children in their allocated square. Their parents tell me I worry too much.’

‘Guess they’re used to having to cope with any resultant bumps.’ Fiona watched one of the boys diving under the water to drag a friend beneath the surface.

‘Looks like they’re about to play bull rush. At least racing each other through the water should be safe from bumps and bangs.’

‘Let’s join them and have some fun.’ Fiona slid into the water, her tee shirt billowing momentarily before absorbing the water and sinking close to her skin, hugging her curves.

His mouth dried. What was it about this woman that always affected him so easily? It seemed that some things never changed.

Someone yelled, ‘Come on, Dr Tom! Bet you can’t beat me to the end!’

A simple race should be safe. ‘An ice cream says I can!’

Hauling himself back onto the side of the pool after the race, Tom sat dangling his feet in the water. He could watch over everyone from here. But it was Fiona that his eyes kept returning to. Time and tragedy had not dimmed her beauty. Her small frame might be slighter than he remembered, but her muscles were still toned and her arms tanned deep walnut. Her dark blonde hair had faded to almost white, no doubt from the sun.

She had said something about wanting to talk to him. Caution snagged his gut. He didn’t do talking. But, watching her laughing with young Jordan, he began to wonder if he’d be missing out on something important if he didn’t try.

‘That surgeon of yours is good with the kids.’ One of the fathers sat down beside him. ‘See her playing like that and it’s hard to imagine she’s a plastic surgeon. Maybe she had a thing for embroidery as a kid.’

‘Fiona? Needlework?’ Tom spluttered. ‘Don’t be fooled by her appearance. When Fiona wants to have fun you’ll find her white water rafting, parachuting, or flying a plane. You will never find her embroidering.’

But then a memory teased the edge of his mind, grew vivid. Fiona bent over an aged cream-coloured robe, carefully repairing a small tear in the generations-old family garment. She’d done it for Liam to wear at his christening. The christening they’d never had. Pain slid in under his skin, wrapped around his heart. His son had died too soon. Years too soon. No parent should outlive their child.

A cry from across the pool snapped through his mind. He jerked his head up, searched the pool. In the middle, Fiona pushed through the water towards two lads, Morgan and Baden. With his heart in his throat, Tom dropped into the pool and swam to join them.

‘What happened?’ he demanded.

‘It’s okay, I just banged my arm on Morgan’s head,’ Baden tried to reassure Tom.

But he wasn’t taking the boy’s word that everything was all right. ‘Get out of the water so I can take a look. You too, Morgan. Out,’ Tom ordered. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

Fiona hoisted herself out of the water and turned to give Baden a hand. With the boys out, and Fiona checking Baden, Tom concentrated on Morgan. For the second time that day they were working together, and it felt good.

Evan brought across the medical bag that went on every outing. It contained, amongst the usual medical requirements, a supply of clotting factors and vitamin K to cover such events as this.

‘Do we know which factor Baden needs?’ Fiona asked.

‘Type A,’ Baden told her.

‘There are notes in the bag.’ Tom fingered Morgan’s head, then reached into the bag for vials of Vitamin K, handed one to Fiona.

Baden didn’t seem at all perturbed by the sudden turn of events. ‘I’m used to it,’ he said in reply to Fiona’s query about how he felt. ‘It was an accident anyway.’

‘Let me check you out first, okay?’ Her fingers were moving carefully over his arm. Within minutes both boys were back on their feet, laughing and teasing each other over who had the biggest bruise as they headed to the changing room.

Tom tried to relax. But inside he was winding up tighter and tighter. The boys were so unconcerned about the whole thing. Didn’t they understand the seriousness of any little knock?

Fiona spoke quietly beside him. ‘Baden’s right. It was an accident.’

‘It still shouldn’t have happened.’

Her fingers brushed his hand at his side. ‘Their parents probably spend a lot of time trying to create a normal life for them, while at the same time worrying themselves sick about accidents. The kids have come here for a wonderful experience and that’s what they’re having.’ Her hand gently squeezed his as she continued. ‘You’ve done that for them. By the nature of their condition there’s already plenty of discipline in their lives. With what you’re doing here you’re giving them confidence to try other things. You mustn’t take it away in the same breath.’

His hand closed around her fingers. The tension ebbed as her words sank in. Because she was right. Sometimes he worried too much. He gulped. He was their paediatrician, not their parent. Out of the blue Fiona had done that for him. The ground tilted beneath his feet, and he felt afraid. If she had the power to put him back on track so easily then what else could she do to him?

‘I’m going to change. That water might be warm but the air’s chilly.’ She tugged her hand away and turned to the women’s changing rooms before he could thank her.

He watched her avoiding skidding on the wet concrete, tugging her sopping wet tee shirt over her head as she went. Beneath the shirt she wore a bikini the shade of her eyes. His favourite colour on her. Had she remembered that? Unlikely. From behind she looked lovely, her skin translucent in the eerie overhead lighting. Her wet hair clung to her slender neck. His gaze followed her until she’d gone, lost amongst the chattering young girls charging inside out of the cold air to change.

Startled at his thoughts, Tom growled and went to change too. The rough chatter and laughter of the boys didn’t drown out the pictures crashing around in his skull. All pictures of Fiona. Of course she was different from how he remembered. Who wouldn’t be after what they’d been through? Also, six years was a long time. He saw a softness about her now that hadn’t been there before.

Face it, he couldn’t believe she’d changed that much. He didn’t trust that she might have. Once she’d proved how untrustworthy she could be, and once was enough.

CHAPTER FOUR

TOM sat in the front seat of the bus and watched Fiona laughing and chatting with one of the mums as they came out of the pool complex. He tingled at the mere sight of her. A breath of fresh air in his harried world. She brought reminders of other things with her—things he hadn’t devoted much attention to in a long time. Family. Marriage. Plain old fun, for heaven’s sake. Occasionally he did a spot of trout fishing with Pierce, the local cop, but that was as fun as his private life got these days.

Fiona’s head popped through the bus door, her eyes searching for a seat. The one beside him beckoned. The woman behind her gave Fiona a nudge towards it, and slipped past to another spare seat.

Tom tapped his watch. ‘We’ve got a busload of starving kids here. You two want to explain to them why we’re waiting?’

Fiona rolled her eyes at him. ‘Women’s stuff. You’d never in a million years understand.’

‘Damn right. My feminine side is very undernourished. I intend keeping it that way, too.’

‘Phew. For a moment there you had me worried.’ Amusement filled her eyes as her bottom wriggled into the cramped space beside him, her hip bumping his, her thigh touching his thigh.

His mouth dried. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his masculine side. It knew her body inside out. It wanted her body. On a bus full of shouting kids? Well, there had been a drought. Even on the rare times he had dated his response to those women hadn’t been as urgent as this. Fiona was one very sexy lady, even when she’d turned up after so long, shocking him to Hades and back.

The bus lurched forward, catching Fiona unawares, and she grabbed at his leg. Where her fingers dug in heat flared, expanded up and down his already wired body. How fickle were his hormones? He had to get control back. One, two, three, four…

‘At least my bones are warmer after that swim.’ Fiona whipped her hand away and turned to face him, creating a gap between them.

‘Bones don’t get cold.’ Was that a responding tension lurking in the corners of her eyes?

She rolled those eyes again. ‘As of today, mine do.’

‘Then I guess you won’t want to go skiing while you’re here.’

Caution tripped across her face. ‘Is that an invitation? I didn’t think I’d have time for anything much more than work.’

Was he inviting her to spend time with him? He tilted back against the side of the bus to avoid her intent gaze and thought quickly. Would he like to take her up the mountain for a ski? She didn’t know this region and it would be fun to show her around. Hang on. Wasn’t he supposed to be keeping this relationship strictly professional? ‘You’re right. There won’t be enough free hours for outdoor activities.’

Her shoulders drooped. In her lap, her fingers fiddled with the corner of her damp towel. So he’d let her down, and now he felt a heel, but better not to get too involved with her outside of the hospital.

Changing the subject, he asked, ‘Are you still a bit of a daredevil?’

The fingers stopped their fidgeting. ‘If you’re asking do I still take on the world at every opportunity, just to prove to my father that I’m as good as my brother would’ve been if he’d lived into adulthood, then no. When I fly these days it’s with caution. When I’m behind the steering wheel of a car I’m slower than an eighty-year-old.’

She’d made him angry with her recklessness. ‘I’m glad to hear you’ve quietened down. You used to worry the hell out of me.’

‘Do you have any good memories of me? Of our time together?’

Shock cracked him over the head. ‘Of course I do.’ If only she knew. There were so many he couldn’t count them. She would know just how many memories you hold if you told her. His skin prickled. Tell Fiona about those? That would mean getting close and personal, and he was not prepared to do that. That would let her creep back in under his skin, and then he might have to start all over again exorcising her from his heart. He doubted he had the strength to go through that a second time.

She muttered, ‘If you give me a chance I think you’ll find that I tend to put other people first these days.’

‘I never thought you were selfish. For a start you’re a doctor, and by the very nature of doctors you can’t be. Doctors help people by giving—their skills, their time, their compassion.’ But she had been on a mission to prove how clever she was all the time, which had been hard to live with.

Her eyes widened and a tentative smile grew, sending warmth through his starved soul. He’d missed that smile. It was the first thing he’d looked for on waking every morning, and in the weeks after she’d left his heart had broken all over again every time he’d rolled over in bed to find his day wasn’t about to start with a sunny smile.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know you thought that.’

Surely he’d told her? What a mess they’d made of everything.

‘Didn’t we?’ she agreed.

That was when he realised he’d spoken aloud.

She added, ‘We really bungled everything. If only we’d known how to talk to each other.’

‘Neither of us was at fault for not saving our marriage. We were out of our depth back then.’ Damn it, he was out of his depth now. Talking had never been his strong point. Actions were stronger, more eloquent, than anything he could verbalise. There would be no actions with Fiona, though. Not now, and not at any time during the coming week.

* * *

Fiona leaned against Tom’s kitchen door, shaking her head at the small table he’d set ready for dinner. A chuckle pushed up her throat.

Tom spun around from the vegetables he was preparing, his eyebrows lifted. ‘What?’

‘You still do that.’ She nodded at the cutlery placed very straight beside the placemats, at the glasses square to the top right corner of the mats. Carefully folded serviettes were under each fork. She waved her hand at the table. ‘Line everything up perfectly.’ She slipped across the room and moved the forks so that they were at angles to the placemats. Then she shifted the glasses. And gave Tom a satisfied smirk.

‘And you always did that,’ he said.

‘And then you always straightened them up again.’

‘It’s a sign of an orderly mind.’

‘Not that old excuse,’ she laughed.

‘It’s the only one I’ve got.’

Sometimes she’d used to mess up his settings and then stand with her back to the table, as though defending her changes. And sometimes she’d demand a kiss before letting him at the table, and that had inevitably led to the bedroom.

Her smile faltered. She didn’t need to remember that right now. Glancing at him she found him staring at her, his mouth open in an O. She saw recognition of those same memories in his eyes.

After a long moment she crossed to the stove to see what Tom was cooking. When she thought her voice would sound normal she commented, with as much nonchalance she could muster, ‘I haven’t had a decent steak in ages.’

‘Still like it medium rare?’

She thought she heard a hitch in his voice. Standing close to him, she smelt a faint whiff of that morning’s aftershave, overlaid with chlorine from the pool. It distracted her, brought her focus to his hands as they deftly sliced broccoli florets. Confident hands that could evoke all sorts of heated responses from her body. She swallowed hard.

‘Well-done these days,’ she croaked. ‘We couldn’t always trust the meat where we worked, so cooking it very thoroughly became our safety measure.’ She opened the fridge to rummage around, adding, ‘Actually, I will try medium rare.’

‘You might find you can’t take the taste now.’

She made the mistake of looking at him. Taste. What she wanted to taste was his tantalising mouth. What she really wanted was to kiss him!

No, she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She did. She could.

‘Fiona? Your steak?’

She wouldn’t. Her steak? Oh, yes, that’s right. ‘I’ll give the medium rare a go. I can always put it back in the pan if I don’t like it.’ In the fridge she found the juice. ‘What do you want to drink?’

‘There’s a bottle of red in the pot cupboard.’

‘Pot cupboard? Who are you hiding it from? The cleaning lady?’ She tugged open the door he indicated beside the stove, staying well clear of his legs. Of him. She didn’t breathe in case his aftershave distracted her again.

‘I don’t have a lot of cupboard space in here.’ Tom moved a step further away. Keeping his distance too?

When Fiona had poured his glass of Pinot she placed it on the bench, carefully avoiding any inadvertent touch of his hand. She had to keep her imagination under control and remember why she was here. ‘There you go.’

‘Thanks. You don’t want wine instead of juice?’

‘I’m not a red wine fan—never have been.’

So far it seemed to be the only thing he had forgotten. She imagined there were plenty of things he wished he couldn’t recall.

They ate in silence. Fiona devoured her steak and the sautéed vegetables as though she hadn’t eaten for days.

‘It’s been a long time since breakfast,’ she said as she pushed her plate aside and picked up her juice. ‘That was great, thank you. You cook a mean steak.’

‘All compliments accepted.’

‘Tasty vegetables, too. I’ve missed fresh green vegetables.’ She picked up her fork and speared a courgette stick from his plate.

‘Don’t mind me.’ He watched her nibbling at the vegetable, his throat working overtime.

This kitchen felt small, claustrophobic. Tom’s presence filled the spaces and heated the air. It stole her determination to ignore everything except her role as a surgeon, for tonight at least, so that Tom had time to get used to her being around.

His chair screeched over the tiles when he shoved back. Picking up their empty plates, he placed them neatly in the sink before topping up his wine glass.

As she watched him Fiona stretched back, pushed her legs out under the table. ‘Why did you decide to open a small children’s hospital? Couldn’t you have done the same thing within the public sector?’

Tom straddled his chair, resting his arms across the back, his glass in one hand. ‘I wasn’t getting the level of satisfaction I felt I should. No matter how many children I saw, there were countless others waiting. I was driven to help more and more.’

‘Because of Liam? This is your way of dealing with what happened?’ Understanding tugged at her.

His head dipped in acknowledgment. ‘Probably. Yes.’

‘We both seem to have immersed ourselves in work to forget the past.’