‘She’s a doctor? Your sister?’
‘A paediatric cardiothoracic surgical registrar, no less.’
‘That’s extremely impressive.’
‘Sure is. I’m very proud of her.’
‘But you weren’t tempted to go to med school yourself?’
‘Tempted, yes. But then I thought about being confined in an ED or a theatre or a general practice and I got cabin fever.’
‘You wanted adventure.’
‘Yeah.’
‘A bit of danger.’
‘Too right!’
‘No two jobs the same.’
‘You got it.’ They were both smiling now. Of course Mac got it. They shared a passion for this work and it was a connection far too strong to ignore.
We’re talking about work, Julia reminded herself. That’s the connection. We’re colleagues.
So why did it feel like something else entirely? That rapid-fire exchange seemed to have derailed them both and led them straight back to where they’d been…the moment before that kiss.
Mac’s smile faded and he looked away. ‘I’m not surprised she worries about you. She’s still being a mother, isn’t she?’
‘Kind of.’ Julia sucked in a breath, pushing this man and her reactions to him out of her head. Trying to concentrate and think about her sister, instead. It was a complicated relationship that had undergone a huge change as she’d left her teens. A rough couple of years, those had been, what with the diagnosis of early endometrial cancer, the surgery and the grief that had accompanied her recuperation with such a huge adjustment needed in what she had envisaged as her future. ‘She’s like a mother and a sister and a best friend all rolled into one, I guess.’
Mac was silent for a heartbeat. ‘You must miss her.’
‘I do.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Guess you’ll be looking forward to getting home, then.’
And there it was. Challenge number two. Had Mac intended any significance behind those words? If she said she couldn’t wait to get back to the other side of the world, she could ensure that any thoughts he might have of following up on that kiss would be buried because she would really be saying she wasn’t interested in him.
The split second of identifying that significance was enough of a hesitation. Mac stood up and took his mug back to the sink to rinse it. The question morphed into a statement and left the clear impression that the fact she was looking forward to leaving was acceptable.
A relief, even?
He could do this.
That pesky part of Mac’s brain that was attached to something much lower on his body just needed a bit more squashing and it would fit neatly into a box that could be locked and then ignored.
He’d managed well so far today, apart from that tiny prod he hadn’t been able to resist this morning, asking if Julia was looking forward to getting home. Alert for a flicker of something other than the impression she was trying very hard to pretend that kiss had never happened. Testing her. Or testing himself?
Whatever. They had both passed.
They’d tidied and restocked the back of the helicopter and then their kits but all they’d discussed had been things like the strength of disinfectant to use or the fact that they were low on IV supplies and morphine. It hadn’t helped that the busy start to the day for the road crew had become an unusually quiet day and, once he and Julia had moved inside to do the kits, they were hanging around, keen to hear as much inside detail as they could about the train-crash scene.
‘So how did you tackle the fractured femur?’
‘Usual protocol,’ Julia responded as she pulled pockets of the back packs open and laid out their contents to see what was missing. ‘Oxygen, fluids, pain relief and a traction splint. Just the same as you’d be doing.’
‘Bit different, hanging in mid-air with a vertical aisle! Must have been hellishly awkward.’
‘Jules can work anywhere,’ Mac told them. ‘She’s like a cross between a contortionist and…’
He had to think of something that could describe both her level of endurance and the way she could use her body. Impossible not to let his gaze rest on that body for a moment as he tried to come up with that word. No overalls right now. She was wearing the team T-shirt and it hugged the curves of her upper body. Her arms were bare and he could see the definition of her muscles. She was as fit as he was. If he touched her upper arm, it would be firm. Those curves on the front of her T-shirt wouldn’t be firm, though, would they? They’d be…Oh, God! Desire seeped out of that mental box, that wasn’t secure enough yet, to tackle him like a solid force. He hurriedly shifted his gaze back to that defined biceps.
‘A weightlifter,’ he supplied.
Nobody had noticed his hesitation. Julia was wrinkling her nose at him.
‘Gee, thanks, mate,’ she huffed. ‘You make me sound like some kind of muscle-bound circus act.’
Mac grinned. And then quirked an eyebrow, keeping his tone very casual. ‘I only meant that you’re supple. And strong. It was a compliment.’
‘Oh-h-h.’ The look Julia gave their audience said that this was a one-off, getting a compliment. The look she flashed in Mac’s direction said something rather different. There was almost a question there—as though she was puzzled by something.
That kiss was still there. Hanging in the air between them.
‘Not that strong,’ she said in a tone as offhand as his had been. ‘I couldn’t have got her onto that stretcher without you, let alone up and out of the carriage.’
Mac leaned past her to drop a new pack of luer plugs onto one of the piles. ‘We make a good team,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’
There. He’d said it aloud and he could feel the way Julia stilled for a moment. As though she was capturing his words and soaking in their significance. The kiss was history. They were colleagues again. Nothing more.
‘What about the other guy?’ Mac was grateful for the voice of the paramedic. Moving them on and chasing that moment into the past, where it belonged—along with that unfortunate kiss.
‘You mean Ken?’ Was he imagining any strain in her voice? ‘The one with the spinal injury?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That was tricky,’ she said. No. She sounded normal. Delighted to be discussing something professional. ‘There was a bit more to worry about than there would have been getting him out of, say, a car crash. We knew we had to get him out of the seat and then up the aisle before we could keep him horizontal.’
‘Did you use a KED?’
‘Absolutely. Couldn’t have managed without one.’
‘What level was the lesion?’
‘Reasonably high. Paresthesia in both hands.’
‘Diaphragmatic breathing?’
‘No. And he didn’t go into a significant level of neurogenic shock, fortunately.’
Mac was only half listening, vaguely irritated by the chatter without knowing why. He kept himself busy sorting an airway roll and putting endotracheal tubes into order by size, finding the guide wires and bite blocks to put back into their correct slots, but he found himself wishing some road-based pagers would sound.
Finally, they did.
‘Priority three,’ the paramedic said, clearly