A Father Beyond Compare

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

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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