She hadn’t said anything at the time. Hadn’t even sent a significant glance in his direction, but that said something in itself, didn’t it? She hadn’t bothered to hide what she thought of him returning to take her job in those early glares. It suggested that she was weighing the implications. Making sure she used the ammunition he had handed her to best effect by choosing the best time and place.
Dammit! How the hell had it happened? He was well used to the nightmares, but to have a flashback like that happen during the day? In the middle of surgery? It was appalling. He wasn’t quite sure of how long he had lost his focus but he had no doubts about what could have happened if there hadn’t been someone as quick as Anna on the other side of that table.
It wouldn’t happen again. He’d lost focus because that had been his first slot back in a civilian theatre. His concentration had been too much on a procedure that couldn’t have been more different to the kind of work in an Iraqi field hospital or, more particularly, as a member of the medical emergency response team on a mission on the front line. It had been slow and fiddly compared to the aggressive, lifesaving measures of treating major trauma under circumstances as tough as they got. It had been a mental ambush, triggered by the unexpected amount of blood he’d seen, or the way it had pooled, maybe.
Whatever. It wouldn’t happen again because he’d be ready for it and wasn’t going to allow a loss of control. Luke was perfectly confident of his ability to do just that.
But would Anna believe it?
A pair of green eyes came to mind. Framed by dark lashes that were unadorned by any mascara. Angry eyes. Accusing and assessing at the same time. What would they be like, softened by trust?
Even more compelling, no doubt, but Luke had to wonder if he would ever witness such a change.
Winning Anna’s trust was not even the priority it probably should be because this underlying tension … this waiting for something potentially unpleasant to happen, was oddly welcome. It made him feel a little more alive than he had ever felt since he’d been shipped home.
He was there, in the hospital canteen. Sitting alone near a window.
Brooding was the word that sprang to Anna’s mind. Hunched over a plate of food he appeared to be toying with rather than eating. The big room was well populated and noisy. Was that why the table with its single occupant seemed to stand out like a beacon? Or was her glance drawn there like a magnet because so many other people were eyeing the newcomer and probably talking about him?
She could understand not wanting to be in there and either listening to or being the object of the kind of speculation and gossip rife in any group of people as large as the St Piran’s staff was, but why on earth hadn’t he done what she almost always did—buy a sandwich and some fruit to take back to the privacy of an office?
Was he hoping for company? There must be so many people there who knew him but there was a hierarchy involved and maybe there weren’t any of his peers around. Anna found herself hoping that by the time she got to the end of this long queue someone would have joined Luke. That way, she wouldn’t need to feel guilty about not doing so.
Not that she didn’t want the chance to talk to him, but this was hardly the place to have the kind of conversation she had in mind, and the idea of making small talk with this man was not appealing. It would be dishonest, in a way, when they both knew what needed to be discussed—the kind of game-playing Anna had never had the slightest inclination to indulge in. Besides, Luke was making himself look so very unapproachable. Self-contained and cool. If he knew and agreed with all the praise going on behind his back, his self-image would have to be more than a little inflated. Maybe his own company was enough?
Like Anna, Luke had changed out of his scrubs and was dressed neatly. Professionally. Anna slid her tray along the metal bars in front of the food cabinets and found herself running her hand down the side of her close-fitting skirt to make sure it wasn’t creased. And then touching her hair to ensure that no tendrils had escaped the sleek knot at the back of her neck. She could do professional, too. Better than anybody, which was no surprise given the amount of practice she’d had.
‘Anna. Hi!’
A new burst of hungry staff members was milling behind her, settling into the queue. The greeting had come from Charlotte Alexander, one of St Piran’s cardiology staff members, who was behind a couple of nurses who’d stopped to stare into a chilled cabinet containing rolls of sushi.
If Anna made personal friendships among her colleagues, which she didn’t, Charlotte would have been at the top of her list. While their relationship was friendly, it was still as professional as Anna could keep it. Even now, when the loose top Charlotte was wearing reminded her that she’d noticed the obvious increase in weight a week or two ago and it had occurred to her that Charlotte could well be pregnant, she wasn’t about to ask such a personal question.
Girl stuff, like heart-to-hearts or sharing secrets and especially wedding or baby talk, was never going to happen. They were in the same category as frilly clothes or loose hair or make-up. Badges of femininity. Barriers to acceptance as an equal in a male-dominated profession. How did women like Charlotte manage it? Looking and dressing in a way that accentuated their best features but still having the respect of both colleagues and patients?
It made Anna feel like she had some kind of split personality, but it was so engrained now it was getting hard to know whether it was the Anna at home or the Dr Anna Bartlett at work that was the real her. The only thing she could be sure of was that never the twain could meet.
But sometimes … like right now … it struck Anna that her work persona was simply armour. Concealing anything feminine and vulnerable. Giving her focus and strength. Her gaze strayed of its own accord back to the solitary figure of Luke Davenport. What was it about him that made her even more aware that she didn’t look as feminine or, God help her, attractive as she could? Just as well her work persona was so firmly engrained. If armour was what it was, she might need its protection more than ever.
Charlotte had been held up too long. She moved around the nurses who couldn’t decide between the teriyaki chicken or smoked salmon.
‘Hi.’ She smiled at Anna. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Very good. Theatre’s over for today and both patients are doing well. I just took the sternal wires out of your Violet Perry. I’m sure the irritation will be gone and she’ll be pain-free in no time.’
‘That’s great.’ Charlotte was peering into the sandwich cabinet. ‘Hmm. Chicken and Camembert sounds nice. Or turkey and cranberry. No … we’ll be sick of that soon. Have you seen how many Christmas decorations are up already?’
‘Mmm. Way too soon, in my opinion.’ Anna found the seasonal celebrations at work disquieting. Too much of a bridge to personal lives.
‘Ham salad,’ Charlotte decided, reaching for one of the triangular plastic boxes. ‘Oh … weren’t you in Theatre with Davenport this morning? Doing Colin Herbert’s pericardectomy?’
‘Yes.’ Again, Anna’s gaze strayed towards Luke.
‘How did it go?’
For a split second Anna considered confiding in Charlotte. Telling her all about how Luke had frozen and she’d had to take over the surgery. If she did, she’d be taking a step she could never undo. Charlotte would tell her husband, James, and the snowball effect might sweep them all into places they would rather not go. This man was going to be her professional partner from now on. They would be working closely together. Closer than she was with Charlotte or James or any of the other cardiology or cardiac surgery staff. She and Luke would share duties in Theatre, on ward rounds, during outpatient clinics.
As though he sensed her stare, Luke raised