Книга - A Father Beyond Compare

A Father Beyond Compare
Alison Roberts


Rescuer and protectorWhen paramedic Tom Gardiner rescues single mom Emma White and her little son, he doesn't realize that by saving their lives, he's changed his own life forever.Husband and father?He thought he never wanted a family, but with Emma and little Mickey around, the rules Tom's lived by are beginning to change. Can he show Emma that he is the perfect father and husband, and convince her that the past belongs in the past and her future lies with him?









This rescue had just become that much more complicated


He could look into the space that held the driver’s seat. A seat that was underwater. The driver’s back was hunched into the corner of the windshield, but her upper body was well above the water. Clutched in her arms was a very small boy who almost disappeared into the protective circle of those slim, bare arms.

Two sets of huge, dark and terrified eyes stared up at Tom.

Tom smiled. “Good to see you guys,” he said calmly. “About time we got this spot of bother sorted out for you, isn’t it?”

The terror in the larger set of dark eyes changed to something approaching incredulity and then, amazingly, the woman’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Oh, yes…please!”

That smile touched something deep in Tom’s heart.




Dear Reader (#ulink_2041bb58-46e4-5d17-8b38-0a3d808dda79),


“Fish out of water” scenarios are brilliant for either revealing or developing a character. They can show others what they’re made of or discover strengths they didn’t know they possessed. I used one of these in A Father Beyond Compare to give my child-phobic hero, Tom, a chance to learn something about himself when he offers to care for a small boy. This small boy, Mickey, is the son of my heroine, Emma, and I gave both of them a “fish out of water” scene to start with, as well. Or maybe that should be a “fish in water,” seeing as I hurled their camper van into a rain-swollen river and then trapped it on debris in the middle of the torrent.

Please let me know if you’ve enjoyed the kind of drama that my SERT series has provided because I’d love an excuse to revisit this team of emergency response personnel and follow them into the kind of tension that can easily filter into their more private lives.

Happy reading,

Alison




A Father Beyond Compare

Alison Roberts







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


Cover (#uc0c3ee68-dabc-50f3-b406-69180b2586b6)

Excerpt (#u313381d2-9f93-5ffe-8dd4-b1f304924de2)

Dear Reader (#u15ffa61e-c34f-5a5d-8b43-4f82f55a9c62)

Title Page (#u4d7f8a6a-c1e3-54ab-ae71-16eaa3e7dba0)

CHAPTER ONE (#u1efe8b09-5126-5d95-9ee0-b669663526de)

CHAPTER TWO (#u502f061d-5d8b-53a1-868f-4a5c9303e64b)

CHAPTER THREE (#u9a0cc3c7-f8f4-5eed-9770-ed33555d6e29)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e21e4e57-7242-5b83-b379-7d6b27e51f75)


IMMINENT disaster could be seen in the rear-view mirror but there was absolutely nothing Emma White could have done to prevent the accident.

Not when it came from behind like that. When she hadn’t even seen the small truck following her camper-van down the long hill towards the bridge.

A one-way bridge.

The signs further up the hill had been perfectly clear. Arrows indicated that the traffic coming from the opposite direction had the right of way on the narrow old wooden bridge that spanned a canyon through which a large river coursed.

Emma had approached with due caution.

She was, after all, in an unfamiliar country, driving a heavy vehicle that required a far greater stopping distance than the compact hatchback she was used to driving. That distance was further compromised today because the roads were still slick after recent rain.

Her caution had been justified. There was a car coming towards them, well over halfway across the bridge and travelling swiftly. Emma was waiting her turn to move. Her hands were on the steering-wheel and, instinctively, when the sharp forward jolt occurred, she pulled down hard on the wheel to try and prevent a head-on collision as her car was shunted towards the oncoming vehicle.

Mickey was sitting in the front seat beside her.

Any mother would have taken the same protective action without thinking.

The jolt had been unexpectedly powerful, however. Forceful enough to jar Emma’s foot from its position on the brake. With the wheels now turned away from the road, they were suddenly on the brink of a worse disaster than a head-on collision.

The ground sloped away—too close to the verge of the road. The river snaked along the bottom of a very deep gully and the sides were steep. The bridge had been situated at its narrowest point, which meant there was no margin between the swiftly flowing, rain-swollen river and its banks.

Nowhere for the van to come to rest in relative safety, having careered and then rolled on its enforced detour from the road. The bone-crunching shock of hitting hard ground suddenly changed as the van slipped into the water. But the soft rocking was far from comforting. The van was still moving.

Picking up speed as the current teased and then clutched at a new toy. Filling with icy cold water as the river tried to claim it completely. Being dragged out into a set of boiling rapids.

Being tipped, inexorably, upside down.

‘You must be out of your mind!’

‘It could work.’ Tom Gardiner spoke patiently, not at all surprised by his partner’s reaction to the idea.

‘No way. It’s far too dangerous.’

‘It’s a calculated risk. I’m prepared to take it.’

‘It’s not justified, mate. They’re probably dead, anyway.’

The two men, both paramedics attached to SERT—Specialist Emergency Response Team—peered down from the hovering helicopter.

It certainly appeared pointless to risk their own lives to help the victims involved in this scenario. Way below them, towards the middle of the swift and rain-swollen river, they had a clear view of the reason they’d been scrambled. A campervan had apparently missed a sign informing the driver to give way on a single-lane bridge and had careened off the road. The van had been swept far enough into the canyon to make access virtually impossible from the ground.

The tangle of debris that had caught the van’s chassis and halted its journey included some hefty logs but it was on the edge of a strong current. At any moment it could be caught and pulled clear to tumble and roll in the deadly river on its seaward path. The distance it had already travelled made the survival of its occupants debatable but the fact that it was still afloat enough to roll if it did swivel clear of the obstruction was uppermost in Tom’s mind as he surveyed the scene.

‘They’ve still got a fair bit of air in there. They could be alive.’

‘It’s only the side door that’s accessible. If they’ve got their safety belts on they’ll be long gone. The driver must be completely under water.’

‘Maybe not. We don’t know how long it’s been that far under.’

‘The witness said it was rolling in the water.’

‘He also said he thought he saw a woman and a child in the front.’ Tom was getting impatient. He leaned further out the side door, blinking as enough of a blast of icy air sneaked around the edge of his helmet visor to make his eyes water. He twisted his head to keep the target in view as the helicopter did another slow circle. ‘I’m going down to check.’

‘And what happens if you do find someone alive?’

‘I’ll get them out.’

‘No. You’d try and get them out and probably join them in the ride downstream. We can’t attach a winch line to keep that thing stable, Tom.’

‘I know that.’

‘And there’s no way of getting a line out from shore. The fire boys haven’t arrived yet. And we’ll need some boats and divers on scene.’

‘It’s going to be too late by then.’ Under normal circumstances Tom was inclined to err on the cautious side himself but the fact that there could be a woman and child involved here made it seem like a copout to be cautious. ‘I can at least go down for a look. If there’s no sign of life, it’ll take the urgency out of things a bit. What do you say, Terry?’

The pilot of the rescue chopper had worked with SERT for years now. A lot longer than Tom’s relatively new partner. Tom not only trusted the pilot’s opinion regarding any safety issues in the air, he knew he would get the encouragement he needed to go the extra mile to help someone in dire need. The middle-aged pilot had just become a grandfather. He was a soft touch.

‘Go for it,’ Terry said. ‘Winch conditions are good. Just don’t attach us to anything down there. I don’t fancy getting my feet wet.’

Neither did Tom but that was exactly what happened as he neared his descent target. His boots dragged in the surface of the river and filled with icy water.

‘Hey, I said minus two, not ten!’ he complained to Josh via the helmet radio. ‘I’ve got wet feet!’

‘Sorry, mate.’

‘Take me up a bit and then see how close we can get. I can’t see a thing yet.’

Except for the ominous speed that made the eddies around the pile of debris look like white-water rapids. And the deep grey-green that advertised the depth of the river channel that was running alongside the obstruction.

The big square white van had an incongruously cheerful rainbow stripe painted along its side. It was bobbing slowly but something underneath—the front axle, maybe—had caught firmly on a thick branch. That branch belonged to a large tree that the earlier storm must have uprooted.

‘Looks reasonably stable,’ Tom relayed. ‘I want to stand on the side door and see if I can get a view into the front compartment.’

From where he was hanging now, he could see the passenger’s side window and a portion of the wind-screen. The side window was shut tightly but light reflecting on the glass made it impossible to see through. The nose of the vehicle pointed down and another log was jammed against the front door. Even if there was someone trying to open that door from the inside, it would be a pointless struggle.

The roar of the helicopter drowned out the sound of rushing water as Tom drifted slowly sideways but he could feel the cold spray of wind-whipped water on his cheeks. His feet touched the side of the van and he bounced slightly as it bobbed. He shook his head to clear droplets of water from his visor, leaning forward, trying to see into the side window at least.

And then he saw it.

A hand. Pressed against the glass. Small fingers that seemed to try and then fail to find something to hold onto.

A child’s fingers.

A child who was still alive.

‘Contact,’ Tom said tersely. ‘We’ve got a live one here.’

‘Hell!’

Tom wasn’t sure if it was Josh or Terry who expressed the frustration they now all faced of trying to do anything more in the immediate stage of this rescue mission. What on earth could they do?

If the van had been stable, they could have winched the victims up to the helicopter, but when the van could be swept away at any moment, it was far too dangerous to have a line that could potentially pull the chopper down.

How long would it take the fire trucks to arrive? The land-based teams had been dispatched at the same time as the SERT paramedics but they had to travel a long way by road. The fire service appliances had the lines to secure an unstable vehicle but someone would have to abseil down the side of the gully to get near the water. The boat rescue team would also be needed. And the team of police divers in case it all went wrong.

It would all take far too long.

‘I’m unhooking,’ Tom informed his colleagues.

‘Tom! No!’

It was too late. Tom had snapped open his winch hook as he’d spoken and he now held the line out to one side, signalling for Josh to retract it. A muttered curse echoed in his helmet from above but the line snaked upwards out of harm’s way.

The smooth side of the van was now a skating rink. Sleek wet metal that tipped gently one way and then another. Tom dropped to his knees as he felt himself sliding, his gloved fingers sweeping in a rapid arc to catch the handle of the door to the back compartment.

And then he was lying flat on the side of the van, aware of the tense silence within his helmet and the sound of the helicopter outside it, hovering as its crew watched with trepidation. Were they already planning to follow Tom’s path downriver when he got swept away? Hoping he might get to shore at a point where they could winch him back to safety?

He wasn’t going to get swept away, dammit. Not before he’d checked out the owner of those small fingers anyway. With an immense effort he dug his fingers behind the handle and pulled, heaving the door outwards.

It opened. The door snapped back and Tom slid far enough to touch a wing mirror with his boot. The metal attachment was fortunately strong enough to take his weight and, using it as an anchor, Tom was able to pull himself back by gripping the top edge of the door. And then he could see inside the compartment.

The water level came at least halfway up and the surface was awash with debris. Clothing. Cooking utensils. Maps. And…a teddy bear.

Ignoring the mental alarms sounding stridently, Tom twisted his body, hooking his legs into the gap he had created in the side of the vehicle.

And then he slid inside the floating campervan. As his feet found a solid point well beneath the water level he pulled the door closed again behind him in the hope of preventing the swirl of disturbed water outside filling any more of the interior.

With a silent prayer to whatever forces might have the power to keep the van exactly where it was for the time being, Tom manoeuvred himself to face the front of the vehicle.

‘Hello,’ he called. ‘My name’s Tom and I’m here to help. Can anyone here me?’

‘Yes!’ The sound was somewhere between a word and a sob. A feminine sound. ‘Help us…Please!’

‘That’s what I’m here for.’ Tom took a slow step through the thigh-deep water, no longer aware of the chill. Between the front seats of the van was a window-like gap in the wall that separated the seats from the back compartment. Light from outside made that gap glow in comparison to the gloom of the space Tom was in. It also made it easy to head in the right direction.

‘What’s your name? Are you injured?’

‘I’m…Emma.’

‘And you’ve got someone with you?’

‘Just my son…Mickey.’

The owner of those small fingers, then. ‘Hey, Mickey,’ Tom called. ‘How’re you doing?’

The only response was an adult groan. ‘Don’t try and stand on me again, Mickey. It…hurts…’

‘Sorry, Mummy.’

‘Are you injured, Emma?’ Tom pushed a sodden pillow to one side as he took another step forward.

‘I’m…not sure.’

Both Emma and her son had an intriguing accent. An appealing, soft lilt that evoked an image of something British. Possibly rural. The fact that these people were in a foreign country triggered something else protective in Tom. They would be terrified in any case but being away from home had to make this all that much worse.

‘What’s hurting, Emma?’

‘My foot mainly…it’s kind of trapped under something. And my leg. The steering-wheel’s sort of bent.’

Tom groaned inwardly. This rescue had just become that much more complicated. Any visions he’d had of balancing on the side of the van and miraculously being able to get the victims winched to safety before land-based back-up arrived went out the window. Trying to do an extrication on a trapped person in this vehicle was going to need back-up in spades. And even then it was going to be dodgy.

He had reached the gap in the wall. He could look into the space that held the driver’s seat.A seat that was under water. The driver appeared to in a crouched position, her back hunched into the corner of the windscreen but her upper body was well above the water. Clutched in her arms was a very small boy who almost disappeared into the protective circle of those slim, bare arms.

Two sets of huge, dark, terrified eyes stared up at Tom.

Tom smiled. ‘Good to see you guys,’ he said calmly. ‘About time we got this spot of bother sorted out for you, isn’t it?’

The terror in the larger set of dark eyes changed to something approaching incredulity and then, amazingly, the woman’s lips curved into a wide smile. ‘Oh, yes…please!’

That smile touched something deep in Tom’s heart. This was one brave lady. Maybe it was a front to try and reassure her small son but that didn’t make it any less courageous. And courage was a quality that Tom valued very highly.

He smiled at the small boy. ‘G’day, Mickey. How old are you, mate?’

‘Go away,’ Mickey told him. ‘I don’t like you.’ He burst into tears.

‘It’s all right, honey.’ Emma’s grip on her son tightened noticeably but Tom could see the grimace of pain as Mickey wriggled. ‘Tom’s here to rescue us. It’s all right. Remember your manners.’

‘But I can rescue you, Mummy. I was going to open the door but I’m too short and I don’t want to stand on your sore bits again.’

‘No, don’t stand on Mummy’s sore bits,’ Tom said hurriedly. ‘I know I look a bit scary, Mickey, but I am here to help. You and Mummy. Do you have any sore bits?’

‘No.’ Mickey’s face turned from where it was buried against his mother’s neck. ‘I’m four.’

Tom blinked, trying to make the connection, but then realised Mickey was answering a much earlier question.

‘Wow. You’re old.’

‘I’m not old. I’m big.’

‘Mmm.’ Tom was happy to agree. He needed to win this child’s trust—as quickly as possible. A plan was formulating in his head as he used the time this conversation was taking but it was hard to try and sound relaxed. ‘Are you here on holiday with Mummy?’

‘We’re having an adventure.’

‘You sure are,’ Tom agreed dryly. ‘I’m sure you didn’t plan to have this bit of it, though.’

Mickey screwed his face up into lines of deep consideration. ‘No. This was a nanksident.’

‘Do you remember what happened?’ Tom was leaning in more closely now. He could feel the edge of the wall digging into his abdomen as he peered down. He didn’t want to frighten Mickey by reaching an arm in just yet. A terrified and uncooperative child could ruin what he was planning before it even became a possibility. He also wanted to check Emma out. Right now he was trying to see how well she was able to breathe but Mickey’s small body made it difficult to assess the movement of her chest wall to get an impression of a respiration rate. His question was designed to try and find out whether either of these victims had been knocked unconscious at any point.

‘There was a big bump,’ Mickey told him. ‘And Mummy said we turned into a boat.’

‘There was a bridge,’ Emma said. ‘One lane. And there was…a car coming…so I stopped.’

‘You stopped?’ Tom was noting how many words per breath Emma was managing, which seemed to indicate at least some degree of respiratory distress. He couldn’t help the note of surprise in his own voice. That wasn’t what the witness had told the emergency services.

‘Of course I stopped.’ Emma was indignant. This was good.A seriously injured person wouldn’t have the energy to sound that indignant. ‘Do I look like some sort of idiot?’

‘No.’ Tom’s response was rapid. And sincere. Even with thoroughly wet hair plastered in dark strands around an overly pale face, Tom could see fine features and bright eyes that advertised intelligence.

‘We got bumped,’ Mickey added. ‘I told you that.’

Tom was clearly the idiot here but he needed to clarify the information. ‘From behind?’

‘Yes.’

‘Josh?’ Tom’s query was brief. ‘You hearing any of this?’

‘Enough,’came the response from within his helmet. ‘Will pass it on to the cops.’

‘Who’s Josh?’ Emma asked.

‘My partner. He’s up in the helicopter, waiting for me to get you out.’

‘Waiting for you to get out more likely,’ came Josh’s voice. ‘Get a move on, Tom.’

‘How on earth are you going to get us out?’

‘I’ll take Mickey first.’ Tom had to hope he’d won a level of trust by now. ‘You want to go for a ride, Mickey?’

‘No.’

‘You have to, sweetheart.’ Emma spoke urgently. ‘It’ll be my turn after you.’ Those huge eyes were on Tom now and the silent plea was heartbreaking. Emma was far from stupid. She knew how much danger they were all in and how much harder it was going to be to rescue her. Tom could actually feel her gathering her determination to save her child. She spoke even more firmly. ‘Mickey? Listen to me, darling. You have to do exactly as you’re told.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. You do what Tom tells you to do or I’m going to have to get cross.’

‘Can you stand up, Mickey?’ Tom tried to sound encouraging. ‘Carefully, though, so you don’t hurt Mummy.’

‘No-o-o.’ The small face was as frightened as the voice.

‘It’s a bit hard for…him to stand up.’ Emma had a distinct wobble in her voice now.

‘My legs only work sometimes,’ Mickey said.

Tom frowned, trying to assimilate the new information. Mickey had said nothing hurt but he did seem very small for his age.

‘Disability?’ he queried succinctly.

‘Mild spina bifida,’ Emma responded. ‘Just starting to walk…with callipers.’

‘Anything else I should know?’

Emma shook her head. ‘Other than no leg strength, he’s perfect. Aren’t you, darling?’

This time the smile wasn’t for Tom. It was for a child who was very clearly deeply loved. Emma was pressing a kiss to Mickey’s wet head and Tom could see the way she screwed her eyes shut, forcing back tears.

‘No problem, then.’ Lower-limb weakness wouldn’t make any difference as far as rescuing Mickey went. And Tom wouldn’t have to worry about being kicked in the shins by a terrified child. He leaned further into the compartment. ‘Just put your arms up, Mickey. I’m going to pick you up.’

Emma had to peel two small arms from around her neck. ‘Be a good boy,’ she told Mickey. ‘Love you.’

‘I love you, too, Mummy.’

Mickey was sobbing but he held his arms up to Tom. It wasn’t hard to pick the small child up but easing the burden through the gap was a little trickier. The van rocked and a dreadful scraping noise could be heard as it moved against the logs.

‘Mummy!’ Mickey wailed.

‘It’s all right,’ Tom said loudly. ‘Just hang on, Mickey.’ He poked his head back through the gap just for a second. ‘I’ll be back very soon,’ he told Emma.

‘Just look after Mickey.’ Emma couldn’t hold back a sob. ‘Please.’

Tom took a step through water that was several inches deeper than when he had gone the other way only minutes before.

‘Josh? Send the nappy harness down, mate. Pronto.’

‘You know what you’re doing, Tom?’

Tom grinned. ‘Hope so.’

It was a hair-raising operation. Tom had to hold a terrified and wriggling child as he opened the side door. Mickey’s legs might be hanging rather limply but he was making up for the physical deficit with a wiry little upper body and two very active arms. Tom found a foothold on a part of one of the bunk beds that allowed him to stand just half out of the van. It wasn’t until he saw that the winch line was within reach that he started the most dangerous part of his plan.

With Mickey firmly grasped under one arm, he climbed onto the side of the van, grabbed the hook and clipped it on. Mickey was struggling too hard to try and put his legs into the nappy harness and it would have been too big for him anyway, so Tom just held him even more securely.

‘Bring us up, Josh.’

As his feet left the side of the van and they dangled in mid-air, the terror was enough to make Mickey go limp all over, apart from two small arms that were wound so tightly around Tom’s neck that it was hard to breathe. It proved a problem when they reached the open door of the helicopter and Josh leaned out to take the child. Mickey wouldn’t let go.

‘I’ve got to go and get Mummy,’ Tom shouted into the small ear. ‘You have to go with Josh.’

There was no time to try and reassure him. This was a dodgy enough transfer anyway when there was no extra line to protect the child. Tom held his breath as he felt his partner’s hands take hold of Mickey. He had to let go and hope that his precious burden made it safely into the interior of the helicopter. His heart was still pounding as he saw Josh deposit the child into a seat and try to shorten a safety harness enough to be useful.

‘Mickey’s got spina bifida, Josh. Any lower-limb paresis is normal.’ He leaned back on the skid. ‘Let’s move. Winch me down again.’

‘ETA for the boats and fire crews is only ten minutes, Tom. Wait for back-up.’

‘No.’ Looking down between his feet, Tom could see that the van’s position had altered slightly. ‘This won’t take long.’

How much had Josh and Terry overheard through his communication equipment? Did they know that Emma was trapped? Had they noticed the change in the van’s position on the debris?

Was he mad to even think of going back? Of course he was. But Tom could see Mickey staring at him and he could only think of the larger version of those terrified dark eyes. Of a brave young mother who was alone and praying for rescue right now.

He tried to keep his tone upbeat. ‘Can’t leave a job half-done,’ he said. ‘And if the boats are on the way you probably won’t even need to winch me back up.’

‘Wind’s come up a bit,’ Terry said. ‘I’m not sure about this, Tom.’

‘We’ve done it once. We can do it again.’

‘You really sure you want to try?’

Tom looked at Mickey again. Then he looked down at the swirling river and the van that contained his mother.

‘Oh, yeah…I’m sure.’

Terry grunted. Josh shook his head as he turned to the winch control panel and his voice sounded resigned.

‘Checking winch power. Clear skids.’

Terry’s permission was equally reluctant but it came nonetheless a second later.

‘Clear skids.’

With a final glance and a thumbs-up signal for the tiny boy looking lost inside an adult-sized harness, Tom began his second descent.

Looking way downriver from the vantage point of his altitude, Tom could see vehicular activity on a stony shore where the canyon widened again. Red and blue lights flashed and figures could be seen emerging from the four-wheel-drive rescue Jeeps. Large black rafts were carried on trailers.

They weren’t even in the water yet but at least they were nearby. If the worst happened and the van got swept away, Tom would just have to find a way to free Emma and then keep her afloat until a boat reached them. It wasn’t an impossible task.

It couldn’t be.

Unhooking his winch cable as his feet touched the side of the van felt no less horrible despite the practice run. The metal seemed more slippery and the van less stable. Tom’s fingers missed the handle on the first sweep and he was aware of a very unfamiliar sensation too close to panic. It was impossible to take a deep breath to steady himself with the amount of water splashing around him. If he missed the handle on the second try he would have to aim for the wheel and his weight on that might be enough to tip them all towards disaster.

When he caught the handle and the door slid open of its own accord Tom realised just how much the van’s position had changed and there was no relief to be found in gaining access. Had Emma managed to keep her head above the water level? Was she still conscious?

‘Emma! Can you hear me?’ Tom waded through the water and debris, almost falling in his haste to reach the gap. He ignored the rocking of the vehicle—the silence he could detect around him was far more ominous.

‘Emma!’




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_3d54c7da-1a4f-529f-a929-98241da10cda)


SHE was so cold. Emma had never been this cold in her entire life. She had never been this terrified. She could ignore the deep ache in her leg, even dismiss the sharp pain in her ribs when she tried to take a deeper breath but she couldn’t escape the terror.

Not while she was alone like this, anyway. It had almost gone for a while back there—when Tom had been with them. Having Mickey to focus on had been an overwhelming distraction as well. How long had it been since Tom had taken her son away? Five minutes? Forty-five minutes? Impossible to tell.

At least her teeth weren’t chattering hard enough to feel like they were going to shatter now. And her head was still above water, although every so often the van rocked enough to make a wave lap against her face. Emma had to screw her eyes tightly shut when that happened and hold her breath. And pray that Mickey, at least, had made it to safety.

This was all so unfair. So stupid! What right had she to drag her son off on what was probably a wild-goose chase? She could have stayed where she was and come to terms with always having that shadow hanging over her life. She could have kept them both safe. Her parents had thought she was wasting her money.

‘Have a holiday closer to home, for goodness’ sake,’ her mother had said more than once. ‘There’s absolutely no point in going all the way to New Zealand. He could have found you last year, you know—if he’d really wanted to.’

Spain would have been nice. Or the south of France. Or a Greek island. A nice short plane ride away from Wales. Mickey could have built sandcastles while Emma lazed on a beach and tried to sort out the direction she wanted to take at this crossroads in her life.

Instead, she was trapped in a van. Waiting to be swept to her death. Or maybe to drown first, the way the van was rocking and sending water over her face right now. Either way she was going to die. Alone.

No. Emma took a gasping breath in between the waves. She wasn’t going to give up. She was only twenty-eight, for God’s sake, and she had a young child who depended on her.

And…and she wasn’t alone. She could hear someone yelling her name.

‘Tom? Is that you?’ Emma opened her eyes and thoughts of imminent death faded. She couldn’t see much of the paramedic’s face, what with the helmet and visor and a microphone attachment but she could see enough. Dark eyes that were fastened on her. And a smile that could light the darkest of places.

Even the place they were both in right now.

‘How it’s going, then?’

Such a silly question but Emma was so relieved to see Tom that she had to smile. Then she had an important question of her own. ‘Mickey?’

‘He’s safe. On board the chopper and they’ll be taking him to the ambulance crew to get checked out.’

‘Was he…good? No trouble?’

Tom was grinning. ‘I only got pinched a few times. He didn’t want to leave his mum.’

Emma couldn’t hold the tears back. Relief vied with panic that she would never see her child again.

‘Hey…’ Tom was squeezing himself as far through the gap as he could without falling on top of Emma. ‘It’s going to be all right. We’ll get you out of here in no time.’

She believed him. Almost. ‘But my foot’s still stuck.’

‘I’m going to see if I can do something about that. How are you feeling otherwise?’ Tom stripped off a glove and reached down to take hold of her wrist. ‘You’re pretty cold, aren’t you?’

He was taking her pulse. Although her hands were almost numb with the cold, Emma could feel the contact. The warmth of another human touching her. The fear of dying alone evaporated. Even the fear of dying at all faded. If anyone could get her out of this, it would be this big man, with his reassuringly calm manner and that wonderful smile.

‘Are you having any trouble breathing?’

‘It hurts a bit. I think my ribs got a bit bruised by the steering-wheel.’

‘How’s your neck? And your head?’

‘Fine…I think.’

‘Were you knocked out?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know what day it is?’

‘Um…Wednesday.’ Tom was trying to assess her level of consciousness. ‘The fourteenth,’ she supplied. ‘We came over on the ferry from North Island yesterday…and we were taking a roundabout route to get to Christchurch.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Wales.’

Tom was grinning again. ‘Can you sing?’

Emma actually laughed. ‘Not right now.’

‘Fair enough.’ Tom leaned further in. Emma could have wrapped her arms around his neck if she’d wanted to. And she did want to. Very much.

‘I’m just going to have a feel down your leg,’ Tom told her.

‘OK.’

‘I hope you don’t say that to every man you’ve just met.’ It was astonishing how Tom could actually make a joke of trying to assess how badly she was trapped. It was a great technique, though. Emma trusted him completely. She would do whatever she had to do to be co-operative.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry. You’ve got some trauma. You’re bleeding a bit.’

Emma had heard that kind of understatement from medical professionals more than once.

‘I do feel pretty weird. Have I lost enough to be in shock, do you think?’ Dark eyes flicked up to meet hers and Emma smiled wryly. ‘I’m a nurse,’ she told Tom. ‘I’ve probably imagined the worst-case scenario here in lurid detail.’

‘I’ll bet.’ Tom was pulling at something well below the water line. Emma felt something metallic scraping against her leg and bit her lip to prevent crying out and restricting his efforts. ‘What kind of nursing?’

‘I used to be a theatre nurse. I’ve worked in Emergency, too, and loved that. I’ve just been a general practice nurse since Mickey was born and I’m more than ready for a change.’

‘Not exciting enough?’

‘No.’

‘So you came looking for some adventure.’ Tom grunted with the effort of trying to bend something from his upside down position.

‘Not this kind.’

‘Long way to come.’ Tom adjusted his position. He used one hand to anchor himself on the doorhandle just behind Emma’s head and twisted, pushing his other arm further into the water. ‘Have you got family in New Zealand?’

Did Mickey’s father count? ‘Not exactly.’

‘Friends?’

‘Um…’ What she and Simon had had could hardly be described as ‘friendship’. A wild affair with undying passion declared on both sides. Something that had ignited so quickly it had bypassed anything resembling a friendship. A conflagration that had been over even more quickly than it had begun.

‘Not really,’ Emma told Tom.

‘You don’t sound too sure.’

‘Mmm.’ That was it in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Emma wasn’t sure. ‘It’s a bit complicated.’

‘Ah-h…’ Tom sounded sympathetic but polite. He was still trying to bend whatever piece of metal was trapping Emma’s leg. He was also clearly trying to distract her with some conversation but didn’t want to tread on any ground that was too personal. ‘So you were heading for Christchurch?’

‘Yes.’

‘My home town.’

‘Really?’ Why did that suddenly make the largest city in South Island a much more attractive destination?

‘Yep.’ Tom grunted with the effort he was putting into trying to shift the piece of metal. ‘Not necessarily a tourist Mecca, though. How come you’re not heading for Queenstown or Milford?’

‘Mickey’s father lives in Christchurch.’

‘Oh…’ The sound carried a wealth of understanding this time. Too much. ‘He must be looking forward to seeing you guys.’

‘He doesn’t know we’re coming.’ Emma wasn’t sure why she was blurting out so much information here. Maybe her fear was still too real. If she didn’t make it, someone would have to take responsibility for getting Mickey back to his grandparents.

‘You’re separated?’ Tom looked up for an instant which gave the impression he was particularly interested in her response.

‘We were never together.’

‘Oh…right.’ Tom bent his head again. Emma could feel his hand on her leg, searching for a better position to tackle the obstacle. She could also feel his puzzlement.

Of course they had been together. Mickey’s conception had hardly been immaculate, had it?

‘I ended the relationship,’ Emma explained, ‘the day I found out I was pregnant with Mickey.’

Tom’s face appeared even more swiftly. ‘You mean he doesn’t know about Mickey yet?’

Emma could sense his disapproval. As though she had disappointed him on some level involving honesty or morality. The need to defend herself was the best distraction he’d come up with so far.

‘Simon hadn’t seen fit…to tell me that he was married,’ she informed Tom. ‘So I didn’t really feel he was automatically entitled to the truth from me.’

Funny how being faced with the possibility of losing her life hadn’t made the guilt go away. In fact, it had just grown stronger, inexplicably fed by the sense of disapproval from a man who was a complete stranger. A stranger she was dependent on if she was going to make it out of this.

Maybe she could help him understand.

‘Have you got kids, Tom?’

‘Hell, no!’ The sound Tom made could only be described as a relieved chuckle. ‘I’ve managed to avoid them so far.’

So he didn’t like children, this hero who had just saved her own child? She was curious that the information should seem so disappointing but he had saved Mickey so Emma decided she should just feel grateful. He was risking his own life again to try and save her and there was no amount of gratitude that could ever encompass that. Especially when success was far from guaranteed.

As if to emphasise the point, the van suddenly moved. It rocked and then twisted and Emma cried out in alarm. The cry changed to a choking sound as water broke over her face and for a few moments Emma lost her focus on what was happening. Panic clawed at her and she struggled, aware of a sharp pain in her foot and a vice-like grip around her upper body.

‘Emma! Emma! Try and hold still for just a bit longer. We’re almost there.’

How many times had Tom repeated his command before the words made sense? Before Emma stopped coughing and spluttering and struggling to try and escape?

‘I’m…sorry,’she finally sobbed. ‘I’m just so scared.’

‘I know.’ Tom’s words were clipped enough for Emma to realise that she wasn’t the only one scared by the new movement of the vehicle.

‘You should get out…while you still can, Tom.’

‘No way, babe. We’re getting out of this together.’ He was pulling at her foot. It hurt like hell but Emma tried to help, pulling as hard as she could.

‘Try turning your foot,’ Tom instructed. ‘We’re almost—’

His words were cut off as the van shifted again. This time it rolled sideways far enough to put Emma’s head right under water. For one paralysing moment she couldn’t think of anything more than the horror of drowning.

Then she felt that strong grasp still holding her leg. She remembered the last words she’d heard and twisted her leg, pushing instead of pulling at her foot.

And something moved. Her foot was free. Her leg was being dragged upwards, away from the crumpled compartment. Emma’s whole body was moving upwards and for a moment her head was above water again. Just long enough to gulp in a lungful of air and to realise that Tom was trying to move her through the window gap into the back of the van. To where the side door was that he’d entered.

But was that still above water?

Emma had lost all sense of direction. All sense of time. Her body was ahead of her brain in shutting out the horror and her limbs felt heavy and lifeless. Powerless to assist Tom in any way, Emma just floated, aware of nothing but the strength of the arms holding her so tightly and the determination she could feel emanating from the owner of those arms.

If they could survive by sheer willpower, Tom was providing more than enough for both of them.

Emma was dimly aware of being outside the van because an icy wind sent an unbelievable chill right into the marrow of her bones and the noise from the helicopter hovering close overhead was deafening.

Tom was shouting but the instructions didn’t seem to be for her, which was just as well because Emma’s lips were too numb to move. Her eyelids drooped and she knew that the effort of trying to open them again would be too great. And maybe that was just as well because the image being cut off was that of the vehicle she’d just been trapped inside.

Somehow they were above it now but still very, very close. Close enough to be bumped and swayed as the van tilted sharply and then swung out into the whirls of the river’s main current, with only its tyres visible.

Even the noise and shouting faded then but Emma clung to the sensation that was the only thing of importance.

The security of the arms still around her.

Holding her.

Keeping her alive.

Tom felt the instant that Emma went completely limp in his arms and something akin to anger took hold.

Had he just gone through the most dangerous rescue mission of his career only to fail? There had been no time to even assess the degree of trauma Emma had suffered to her lower leg. What if that piece of twisted metal had been tamponading an arterial bleed and he hadn’t had the opportunity to prevent her bleeding to death in the tense minutes of getting her out of the van and winched up to the helicopter?

Time slowed and it seemed to take for ever to get her on board the aircraft and then to get himself inside. In less than a minute Terry had the chopper on safe ground but Tom was barely aware of landing. He was crouched over Emma, tilting her head back to ensure her airway was open. Trying to assess whether or not she was still breathing.

Josh was filling the rest of the space in the cabin.

‘Carotid pulse,’ he said, ‘but no radial. What’s your estimation of blood loss?’

‘Too much.’ Tom could see fresh blood loss on the shredded denim of Emma’s jeans. He didn’t need to remind Josh of the urgency of controlling the haemorrhage. His partner was already ripping open dressing and bandage packages.

Tom pulled down an oxygen mask and flicked the flow to full bore. He put the mask on Emma’s face and eased the elastic behind her head.

‘It’s OK,’he told her. ‘We’re safe now, Emma. You’re going to be fine.’

Her face was deathly pale, framed by the long, wet tresses of dark hair.

‘She’s hypothermic,’ Tom warned Josh. ‘I’ll get a cardiac monitor on.’

‘Can’t feel any broken bones here.’ Josh was taping the pressure bandage in place on Emma’s leg. ‘Could be just soft-tissue injury. How’s her breathing?’

‘Shallow,’ Tom responded. ‘But chest wall movement looks equal.’ He had been waiting for the rotors of the helicopter to slow enough to make using a stethoscope useful. ‘Sounds clear enough,’he reported moments later.

‘Could be some abdominal trauma.’ Josh had cut the top of Emma’s jeans with shears and pulled the rest of her shirt clear. Tom felt his heart sink as he saw the ugly purple mark marring an expanse of perfect pale skin. If Emma had ruptured her spleen on top of losing blood from the injury to her leg, they may well be too late in starting a fight to prevent her slide into irreversible shock.

Fluids were needed, stat. Wide-bore lines—one in each arm. Pressure cuffs to get the fluid where it was urgently needed—to pump up blood volume and keep enough oxygen circulating to prevent cellular death.

She also needed rapid transport to hospital. The rotors of their aircraft were still turning as Terry kept the helicopter idling. As soon as he and Josh were happy that Emma was stable, they would take off again. With fluids running and the cardiac monitor revealing an overly rapid but normal pattern, take-off was only seconds away.

There had been another reason for landing near the collection of emergency vehicles dotting the lip of the river canyon, however.

‘We need to get the kid,’ Tom reminded Josh.

‘But he’s fine,’ Josh responded. ‘Not a scratch on him apparently. He could go by road.’

‘No.’ Tom shook his head. ‘Mickey needs to come with Emma.’

What if she regained consciousness en route and the distress at having been separated from her child worsened the situation? If Tom had needed any persuasion to stick to his preferred option, it came when Emma’s head rolled to one side and then back again. Her eyelids fluttered open and an arm trailing an IV line was raised as her hand reached towards Tom.

‘Mickey…’

It was the only word Emma uttered but it was more than enough for Josh to nod agreement. He climbed out the rear door and was back in a very short time with a tiny boy clutched in his arms.

‘Mickey’s here,’ Tom told Emma. ‘He’s coming with us.’

‘Mummy!’

The word was lost in engine noise but it was easy to lip-read. Even easier to read the joy of reunion on that small face. Mickey was actually grinning as he caught sight of his mother. Way too small to match those huge, dark eyes and with a now nearly dry mop of tousled, black curls, Mickey had to be the cutest kid Tom had ever seen.

‘Mummy’s asleep just now,’ he shouted carefully. ‘She’s not feeling too well and we’re going to have another ride in the helicopter so that we can take her to the hospital.’

Fear clouded the dark eyes now and Mickey’s bottom lip trembled. How much did the boy understand? With his disability, it was possible that the boy had had quite a lot of experience of hospitals. Maybe enough to know that some people who went into one never came out again?

‘Mummy’s going to be fine,’ he added firmly. ‘This is just another part of your adventure, OK?’

That earned him a suspicious stare and the reminder that Mickey had already declared his dislike of Tom. Still, the child made no protest as Josh strapped him into the seat. The extra passenger made it more awkward to work around Emma but it was a short trip of less than thirty minutes and Emma remained stable.

Better than stable, in fact. With at least the external bleeding controlled and rapid infusion of fluids, Emma’s level of consciousness improved steadily. By the time she was lifted from the stretcher to the bed in the resuscitation area of the emergency department under the watchful gaze of the assembled trauma team, Emma was awake.

‘Mickey,’ she said anxiously. ‘Where’s my son?’

‘He’s being taken care of.’ The doctor in charge of Emma’s airway leaned over her reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. We need to focus on you for a little while.’

There had been no chance to complete any of the paperwork a job like this generated but, having given all the information he could during the patient handover, Tom was only to happy to use the task as an excuse to stay in Resus, taking over an out-of-the-way corner of a bench.

He had to move a couple of times, to go behind the reinforced glass as X-rays were taken. He was still there when the ultrasound technician arrived with the equipment needed to examine Emma’s abdomen.

Josh appeared right behind the bulky machine.

‘I’ve got a date tonight, mate. If I’m late again, I’m going to be in big trouble. You’re finishing the paperwork, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah. I just wanted to find out what the verdict is on Emma’s leg. There’s a surgical consult that should-n’t be too far away.’

‘That’ll take hours. You know what it’s like around here. They haven’t even started that ultrasound.’ Josh gave Tom a curious glance. ‘If you’re that keen on following up, why don’t you drop back in on your way home? After we’ve signed off.’

Tom could understand his partner’s eagerness. They were at the end of four days of active duty and about to start their four days off. He was looking forward to the time off himself but he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Emma again yet because of the level of activity around her bed. And he hadn’t even been to check up on how young Mickey was doing.

Neither reason was any excuse to stay in the emergency department, of course, and if they’d been scrambled for another callout Tom would have gone instantly, without a backward glance.

Well, maybe he would have looked over his shoulder but that was perfectly understandable, wasn’t it? This rescue had been a major incident. The thought of what could have happened if they’d failed could well come back to haunt him. It was no wonder Tom felt he needed a little more closure than normal.

His partner’s curious glance had been slightly disturbing, however. Was Tom already involved on an emotional level? Emma was certainly a very attractive young woman and she had certainly impressed Tom with her courage but it wasn’t as though he had any intention of getting more involved with a patient. She had a kid, for goodness’ sake, and Tom found them an alien species as far as his social life was concerned. Not only that, she had come to New Zealand to find the kid’s father and that hesitation she’d displayed in answering questions about friendship made Tom think that there was a lot more going on than Emma was revealing.

She must have ended the relationship if the guy still didn’t know he had a son but it was pretty obvious things were far from over on Emma’s side. Why else would she have come halfway across the world?

Tom shrugged off his reluctance to leave. He picked up the folder of paperwork and nodded at Josh.

‘You’re absolutely right, mate. It’s time to go home.’

‘You came back.’

‘It was kind of on my way home and I wanted to see how you were doing.’

‘Much better.’ It wasn’t hard to find a smile for Tom but Emma felt strangely shy. He looked very different without his uniform and helmet. Had she really registered what he’d looked like at all in the crisis during which they’d met? It was his voice she had recognised just now when she’d overheard him asking a nurse where she was.

Emma would remember that voice and its capacity to sound reassuring for the rest of her life. She would also remember the wonderful strength of his arms but everything else was a haze. Emma couldn’t remember anything after the point they’d escaped the van. She’d looked for Tom when she had woken up enough in the emergency department only to be told that he’d gone and that he’d finished his shift so was unlikely to be back in the department that day. There’d been too much else going on to register disappointment but the pleasure Emma felt now on seeing him come through the curtain of the private area she was now occupying was well up the positive emotional scale.

‘Anything still hurting?’

‘Not really. Morphine’s great stuff, isn’t it?’

‘What did they find on ultrasound?’

‘My spleen’s been bleeding a bit but it’s not damaged enough to need removing. They reckon it’s stopped bleeding now but they want to keep an eye on it for a day or two.’

‘And your leg?’

‘That’s a bit more of a mess. I have to go to Theatre to have it cleaned out properly and stitched.’

‘But nothing’s broken?’

‘No.’

‘That’s great. You should be up and around in no time.’

‘I can’t believe I’m going to be up and around at all.’ Emma took a deep breath that escaped in a rather shaky sigh. ‘You saved my life, Tom. I don’t know how to say thanks.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘All in the line of duty, huh?’ Emma caught Tom’s gaze and could see perfectly well that her rescue had been something completely out of any normal line of duty. She could also see that he knew she knew that.

For a moment, the atmosphere was heavy as they held the eye contact and acknowledged the significance of what Tom had done.

Emma wasn’t sure who smiled first. Maybe her, to try and show Tom how enormously grateful she was.

Or maybe it was Tom. Why would he have come back to the hospital to see her if he didn’t want to revel in the satisfaction of an unusually successful mission?

But why did it feel like there was a rather different message being passed with that shared smile?

Emma dropped her gaze, suddenly embarrassed. She was feeling grateful, not attracted to the man, for heaven’s sake! Never mind that she could still instantly summon the sensation of being held in his arms. He’d been rescuing her, not dancing with her!

‘How’s Mickey?’

‘Hungry.’ Emma smiled again, reliving the sheer relief of finding her son had been completely uninjured by the awful accident. And the miracle that she was still alive to care for him. ‘They found him a wheelchair and a nice nurse has taken him to the cafeteria with her while she has her meal break.’

‘Will they let him stay with you in hospital?’

‘They’ll have to.’ A new and horrible fear reared its head. ‘If he has to leave then I’m not staying.’ She didn’t like the frown on Tom’s face. ‘You think there’ll be a problem with that?’

‘I hope not. I know there’s never any question of not letting a mother stay with a sick child. I’ve just never heard of the reverse happening. Unless it’s a breast-feeding infant, of course.’ Tom was still looking concerned. ‘You’re going to need to rest and concentrate on yourself for a little while. Is there nobody that could care for Mickey for you?’ He cleared his throat. ‘What about his…father?’

‘No chance.’ Emma turned her face away from Tom, dismissing the suggestion. ‘I’ll pick my own time to let him know about Mickey, thanks.’

That was something that would have to be handled very carefully.

‘Besides, I don’t even know if he’s available.’

For Mickey or for her? Simon had been asking for her in the hospital in London where they’d met. He’d told someone he’d never forgotten her but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her back in his life, did it? Even if he wasn’t married any longer. Emma tried to squash the anxiety that had plagued the decision process in planning to come to New Zealand. She wouldn’t want Tom to pick up an undertone and think she was totally desperate. Trailing around the world on the off chance of rekindling a past romance.

‘He…travels quite a lot,’ she added hastily.

‘Right.’ Tom sounded disinterested. In fact, he was edging away from her bed. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better, Emma. I’ll try and get in to see you again, maybe.’

He stepped further away. ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’

His exit route was blocked by the arrival of the emergency department’s nurse manager.

‘Emma? I’m sorry. I’ve done my best but there just isn’t the bed space to let Mickey stay in with you. We’ve got someone from Social Welfare coming in to discuss options.’

‘What?’ Dismay didn’t begin to encompass the sinking sensation that hit Emma. ‘No!’

‘I’m sorry.’ The nurse manager was looking at Tom as he reiterated his apology. Maybe he was looking for some moral support in having to enforce an unpalatable situation. ‘I’ve really done my best.’

‘No.’ Emma pushed at the covers of her bed. ‘I’m not having Mickey taken care of by strangers.’

Luckily, no one had raised the side of her bed. In her drug-induced, pain-free haze, it was remarkably easy to sit up and swing her legs over the side.

‘Emma!’ Tom sounded horrified. ‘What do think you’re doing?’

‘I’m going to find my son.’

‘You can’t walk on that leg,’ the nurse manager declared. ‘You’ll reopen the wound and start bleeding again. You could start bleeding internally again as well.’

‘I really don’t care.’

Likewise, Emma didn’t care that she was being irrational and probably ridiculous. Her brain was too fuzzy to be able to articulate why it would be so unacceptable to have Mickey cared for by strangers, it was far easier to just give in to the overwhelming need to keep her child close by. They’d almost been ripped apart for ever only hours ago. Couldn’t these people understand how important it was for them both to stay as close as possible now?

‘Emma—please, get back on the bed.’ Tom was moving to help the nurse manager.

She pushed his hand away. ‘No. I have to find Mickey. Where’s the cafeteria?’

The curtain of the area Emma was in was pulled back to admit an orderly. ‘All set to go up to Theatre?’ he queried cheerfully.

‘No!’ Panic stepped in and brought tears to Emma’s eyes. She covered her face with her hands to try and force them back. Getting hysterical was not going to help her win this battle.

‘Emma?’

She knew it was Tom’s hands holding her arms. Emma knew that touch well. ‘What?’

‘How ’bout if I hang around and look after Mickey for you? Would you go up to Theatre and get your leg sorted?’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

The nurse manager’s voice held the same tone as Emma’s had. ‘It’s not just a babysitting stint,’ he said. ‘Emma’s going to need to be kept in hospital for a few days, mate.’

‘So? I’ve got four days off starting tonight. I can take Mickey home with me.’

Emma swallowed. Hard. She dropped her hands and turned a tear-streaked face up to Tom. ‘You’d do that?’

‘If that’s what it takes to make you happy to stay and get the treatment you need.’

‘Yes…but…’

‘I’m not sure Social Welfare will be all that happy about this, Tom.’ The nurse manager was staring at Tom with a very odd expression. ‘You’re not registered as a foster-parent. You’re a single male. You’re as much of a stranger as anyone else in Christchurch would be.’

‘No.’ Emma shook her head vigorously. ‘Tom’s not a stranger. He saved our lives. Mine and Mickey’s.’

‘But you don’t know anything about him.’

‘I know enough.’

The nurse manager shook his head. He raised his eyebrows eloquently. ‘I suppose they’ll make all the checks they feel they need to but, Tom, do you actually know anything about looking after kids?’

‘I can look after myself.’ Tom sounded puzzled. ‘Kids are just short people as far as the necessities of life go, aren’t they?’

‘This one’s a bit special. He’ll need extra care.’

Tom’s hand was still on Emma’s arm. She felt the encouraging squeeze. ‘Is he so difficult to look after?’

‘Not really.’ Emma was happy to respond to the encouragement. She wanted Tom to succeed where she couldn’t. It was the only acceptable option given that she wouldn’t make it as far as the door if she tried to walk out of here. ‘He needs to be carried a lot.’

‘No problem.’

‘And he still needs to wear a nappy. His bladder control isn’t great yet.’

Tom clearly had to rally from a moment of being taken aback. ‘I’ll manage,’ he decided. ‘I’ve got friends with kids. They can give me a few pointers.’

‘Mickey can tell you what he needs and how to do it.’

The nurse manager was shaking his head again. ‘I don’t know about this. It’s very irregular.’

The orderly looked pointedly at the clock.

‘Either Mickey goes with Tom or I’m discharging myself.’ Emma’s words came out with admirable firmness. She knew she was going to have to lie flat again in about two seconds. She was feeling sick and dizzy and the pain was biting at her leg again. There was just enough time to smile at Tom. ‘Will you bring him in to visit me?’

He had a gorgeous smile. It made his eyes crinkle with genuine warmth.

‘You’ll probably have to chase us away when you need some rest.’

Emma was still smiling as she lay back against her pillow and let herself sink back into the release of temporary oblivion. Yes, Tom might be a stranger but how could you not trust someone who had risked their life to save you?

He was still saving her.




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_89940c6f-a648-5a4e-9dc5-51090805604b)


FOR the second time that day, someone was suggesting that Tom Gardiner was not thinking straight.

His younger sister, Phoebe, was being even more unkind. She was laughing aloud.

‘Oh, man! This is great. What were you thinking of, Tom?’

He gritted his teeth. ‘I was trying to help someone.’

‘By babysitting? Night and day? For days and days and—’

‘Yeah, I get the message. Stop gloating, Phoebs.’

‘But, Tom…’ It took a moment for Phoebe to get real control. ‘You hate kids.’

‘I don’t hate them. I just don’t know what to do with them. They make me nervous.’

‘So you offer to be in loco parentis for an unknown length of time? You’re nuts!’

‘Look, I thought you might be able to help. I didn’t ring up for a dose of sibling abuse.’

But Phoebe giggled again. ‘Just wait till Mum hears about this. Oh…that wasn’t you we just saw on the news, was it? Dangling over some van that was getting washed out to sea in a river? I told Mum it probably wasn’t cos she was having kittens.’

‘It was me, actually.’

‘Holy heck! Just as well you’re OK, then. Mum’s gone to a lot of trouble making a roast chicken dinner for us. She’d be mad if you didn’t show up.’

‘I probably won’t be able to show up. I’m going to be looking after Mickey, remember?’

‘Bring him along. Mum could pretend he’s one of those grandchildren she’s got her heart set on.’

‘I don’t think so. He’s a tired, frightened four-year-old, Phoebe. He doesn’t need another batch of strangers to deal with.’

‘Where does he usually live?’

‘Wales.’

‘Oh…’ The penny seemed to be finally dropping. ‘Is this something to do with that van in the river?’

‘Yeah. I pulled Mickey out before his mother.’

‘Is his mother all right?’

‘She’s injured, but not too badly. She’ll be in hospital for a few days and she wasn’t keen to have her son handed over to Social Welfare.’

‘Hmm.’ Phoebe sounded very thoughtful. ‘So this mother—she’s cute, huh?’

Tom ignored the bait. The batteries on his mobile phone were due to run out any time. ‘Phoebe, I’ve got someone from Social Welfare turning up at the hospital to interview me any second to see if I’m acceptable as a caregiver,’ he said crisply. ‘I would prefer not to come across as a total idiot.’

‘Which you are, of course.’

‘Probably. Are you going to help me or not?’

‘Tempting as it is to see you try and pull this off by yourself, big brother, I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Thanks.’ Tom let his breath out in a huff of relief. ‘What do I need?’

‘My friend Alice has got kids. Her little boy is three and her daughter’s just turned one. She’ll know what you need and I’m sure she’ll lend me some stuff.’ Phoebe laughed again. ‘She won’t be able to resist if I promise to fill her in on all the gory details later.’

‘How soon could you collect stuff?’

‘I’ll do it now.’ Tom could hear a heavy sigh. ‘Mum’s giving me the evil eye here, Tom. You’d better talk to her. She’s not going to be very happy about the meal. What time will you get to your house?’

‘I don’t know. There’s a bit to sort out here first.’

‘I won’t wait for you then. I’ll drop the stuff on your doorstep and then come back here. That way, at least one of us will get to eat dinner.’

‘I’ll make it up to Mum.’

‘You’ll have to. How old did you say this kid was?’

‘Four. Nearly five but he’s very small for his age. He’s got spina bifida.’

There was a moment’s shocked silence on the other end of the line, which was disconcerting. It was hard to shock Phoebe.

‘Tom…? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

Nearly two hours later, Tom could almost smell the roast chicken dinner he was missing out on. He wished he had been able to attend the planned family gathering.

Emma was still in Theatre. The pleasant young woman from Social Welfare had been easily persuaded that Tom was up to the job of caring for a small, slightly disabled boy and had whisked him off to the nearest supermarket to help him purchase disposable nappies and other items deemed necessary.

Tom had collected Mickey from the care of the emergency department nurses to find his young charge was very displeased with the whole arrangement despite having had it explained to him by his mother before she’d been taken into the operating theatre.

‘I don’t like you,’he reminded Tom, as he was carried to the car park.

‘I’ve got a dog at home,’ Tom offered. ‘Do you like dogs?’

‘No. Dogs bite.’

‘My dog doesn’t bite.’ Tom couldn’t think of anything else to offer as an inducement. At least Mickey had been fed and toileted by the nursing staff while Tom had been at the supermarket. With a bit of luck, he could just put him to bed once they got home and then have a quiet beer or two while he thought about how to get through tomorrow. He tucked Mickey into the booster car seat the paediatric ward had supplied, along with a small wheelchair.

‘It’s only for a day or two until Mummy gets better.’ Tom was reassuring himself as well as Mickey, he realised. ‘It won’t be so bad.’

It was bad.

Mickey caught sight of Max—Tom’s elderly, long-haired German shepherd—and shrieked with fear.

He refused to be placated with any offers of food or drink and Tom’s delight in finding that Phoebe had left a bag of toys, along with a selection of clothes and even a plate of chicken dinner covered with foil on his doorstep, was rapidly diminished as Mickey hurled one offering after another across the floor of his living room.

Max obligingly picked the rejected toys up and brought them back, one by one, to where Mickey was sitting, howling, on the couch.

‘I don’t think you’re helping, mate,’ Tom told his dog sadly. ‘Maybe you should go outside for a bit.’

And maybe Tom should ring the appropriate authorities and admit defeat.

But how would he be able to front up and tell Emma he’d done that? What if she woke up in Recovery to learn that he’d betrayed the trust she’d put in him? Tom got a sudden memory of the look in Emma’s eyes when he’d taken Mickey from her arms in the van. She had known there was a distinct possibility she wasn’t going to make it out of there alive and she had trusted him to take her son to safety and do whatever was needed to keep him safe. The depth of love for her child and the desperate plea for help tugged at something deep within Tom all over again.

There was no way he could betray that trust.

‘Do you want to watch TV?’ he asked Mickey.

Mickey shook his head and kept howling.

‘Do you want to go to bed?’

The small face turned an even darker shade of red and the decibel level increased alarmingly. Small hands punched at Tom so he was forced to move further away. He stood there, looking down at the miserable scrap of humanity on his couch, and felt utterly helpless.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

No wonder he’d instinctively avoided having anything to do with kids. In terms of stress levels he’d choose dangling out of a helicopter or climbing into water-filled vehicles any day. Tom had had about as much as he could take.

‘I’m just trying to help,’ he told Mickey with a sigh. ‘But I can’t do this by myself, obviously. Do you want me to find someone else to look after you?’

‘No-o-o…I want Mummy.’

‘I know you do.’ So do I, Tom thought desperately. I want Mummy to come and scoop you up and make everything all right.

A thoughtful crease appeared between Tom’s eyebrows. The idea was a little embarrassing but who was there to see, other than Max?

‘Would a…a cuddle help, buddy?’

By way of answer, Mickey picked up a small, pink dog from the pile on the couch beside him and threw it at Tom. It bounced onto the floor a few feet away.

Max pricked up his ears. He looked at the toy and then he looked at Tom.

‘I wouldn’t bother.’ Tom sighed more heavily this time. ‘OK, Mickey. I’m going into the kitchen to get a drink. I’ll be back in a minute.’

A beer. Icy cold and refreshing enough to clear his head. Tom popped the tab on the can and took a long swallow. He wondered what price Phoebe might extract from him in order to offer some hands-on assistance. She worked with kids all the time in her job as a physiotherapist. She’d know what to do to stop a kid making himself sick by crying.

He took another swallow. Removing himself from the near vicinity seemed to have helped because the noise level had dropped considerably. It was silent in the adjoining room, in fact.

Tom’s beer can hit the bench with enough of a thump to send foam cascading down its side. Had Mickey rolled off the couch and cracked his head on the coffee-table? Was he lying unconscious on the floor while his carer was swigging alcohol in another room?

The panic subsided the moment Tom swung into the living room. He stopped in his tracks as he saw Max nudging the pink dog closer to Mickey from where he must have placed it on the couch cushion earlier.

Mickey was still snuffling and he still looked pretty miserable. He might have been trying to reject Max’s offering when he picked the dog up and threw it again but Max was giving him the benefit of any doubt. The dog waved a still magnificent plume of a tail and went to retrieve the toy.

This time there was no mistaking a game had begun. Mickey scrubbed a wet nose with the back of his hand and threw the fluffy pink dog with purpose.

‘Go!’ he instructed Max.

Max went. So did Tom, slipping back into the kitchen, still unnoticed. Who was he to argue if his dog could do a better job of babysitting than himself? If it was working, Tom was quite prepared to go with the flow.

He took another peep into the living room a minute later. Max, bless him, wasn’t even looking bored by the repeated track he was pacing on the living-room carpet. When Tom looked in again, however, Max had given up. He was sitting on the couch beside Mickey.





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