A Father Beyond Compare Read online

  'Quick!' someone shouted. 'I think he's just stopped breathing.'

  'What's his name?'

  'Dave.'

  'Has he been conscious until now?'

  'Yes. He was talking to us when you were on the way down.'

  Tom crouched beside the climber. 'Dave—can you hear me?' He rubbed his knuckles on the man's sternum, trying to elicit a response to a painful stimulus. There was no response. Tom could see the dried frothy sputum on his patient's face. He could also see the blue tinge of cyanosis on his lips that was more than could be expected from the cold temperature of the environment.

  'He seemed fine,' the young woman said brokenly. 'A bit of a headache and a cough but that was all. He said he was fine.'

  Tom could feel a pulse in Dave's neck. It was rapid and weak but it meant that the information he'd received so far was accurate. The respiratory arrest could have only happened moments ago because continued hypoxia would have resulted in cardiac arrest within a very short period of time.

  There was still a chance of saving the climber. Tom needed to evacuate this patient as soon as possible and get him to a lower altitude. Had he still been breathing Tom would have put him straight on the stretcher and waited until they were safely on board the helicopter to start any treatment, but that wasn't an option now.

  'I'm going to have to intubate Dave and get as much oxygen as possible into his lungs before we move him,' he told the climbers. 'Could someone take his helmet off, please?'

  Stripping off his outer gloves, Tom swiftly pulled equipment from his pack. A laryngoscope, endotracheal tube, connection apparatus and lubricant.

  'Anything else you can tell me?' Tom queried. 'Does Dave have any medical conditions? Did he have a fall?'

  He had attached the tiny portable oxygen cylinder to a bag-mask unit as he spoke. Squeezing the bag forced air into Dave's lungs.

  'He looked drunk,' a man said. 'He couldn't coordinate himself on that last stretch.'

  'He slipped,' the girl added.

  She sounded frightened. Tom gave her a brief smile. 'Could you hold Dave's head for me, please? In this position.' He tilted the unconscious man's head and placed the girl's hands on either side. She would benefit by being involved here. It was possible that Dave's fall while roped to the other climbers had been a narrow miss for a much larger disaster. This young woman still had to negotiate the rest of their descent and thinking too much about what had nearly gone wrong would make it a dangerous ordeal.

  'He doesn't have any medical conditions,' she told Tom. 'He was fitter than any of us.'

  Tom peered under the blade of the laryngoscope, trying to visualise the epiglottis. Had it been a heart attack? The onset was sudden for high-altitude pulmonary oedema. It could have been crippling chest pain that had caused the clumsiness. Or had Dave been making light of earlier symptoms such as a headache and shortness of breath because he was determined to finish the climb? Maybe even to impress this dark-haired girl who was holding his head steady.

  Not that it mattered.

  Tom could see the vocal cords as he lifted the blade of the laryngoscope. He slid the tube into place and connected the oxygen supply, watching the chest-wall movement as he squeezed air in under pressure.

  A few seconds with a stethoscope to confirm equal air entry and then a few more to tie the tube securely into place, but the entire procedure had taken less than a minute.

  'Right. I'll need some help to get Dave onto the stretcher.'

  His helpers were willing and capable but the frigid air temperature was biting at Tom's fingers by the time he slid the buckles of the straps into place to secure Dave to the stretcher. He took just a little more time to squeeze more oxygen into his patient before the enforced break the winching would entail.

  A signal to Josh once he had secured the winch hook to both the stretcher and himself meant that he was about to leave the other climbers.

  'Is everyone else OK? Are you going to need any help getting down?'

  'We're OK,' the girl said. 'But what about Dave? Is.. .is he going to make it?'

  'He's very sick,' Tom told them honestly, 'but we'll do everything we can.'

  He could hear Josh talking to Terry over the radio, warning the pilot that the weight was coming onto the winch line. And then he was dangling in mid-air again, steadying the stretcher as they spiralled slowly on the way up to the helicopter.

  'Is he going to make it?'

  The wide, dark eyes could have belonged to Dave's climbing companion but this time the wish for a successful outcome was showing on Emma's face.

  'He was looking a hell of a lot better by the time we left the emergency department.' Tom picked up his fork again with a sigh of pleasure. 'This is delicious.'

  'It's only shepherd's pie.'

  'You didn't have to cook for me.'

  'I wanted to.' Emma turned to the wheelchair parked beside her at the end of the kitchen table. 'Don't play with your food, Mickey. Use your fork, not your fingers.'

  She seemed to have abandoned for own meal for the moment in favour of quizzing Tom about the afternoon's mountain rescue.

  'It must have been so exciting.'

  'It was a good job. I had my doubts about whether we'd even get him to hospital alive when I found he wasn't breathing.'

  'Did he regain consciousness?'

  Tom nodded, his mouth full.

  'What will they do for him now?'

  Tom swallowed. 'Probably not much more than we were doing, apart from some drug therapy. They've started him on a calcium channel blocker.'

  'Why?'

  'It lowers the raised pulmonary artery pressure and helps clear alveolar oedema, which improves oxygenation.'

  Emma nodded her understanding. Tom had to avert his gaze when she began eating again. How on earth could watching someone eat shepherd's pie be so astonishingly sexy?

  Distraction was at hand with the change of view.

  'We don't feed Max at the table,' Tom reminded Mickey. 'He's got his own dish in the laundry, remember?'

  'Mickey!' Emma's chair scraped on the floor. She limped a step towards the bench and scooped up a damp cloth to wipe the remnants of pie from her son's hands.

  Max wiped crumbs off his nose with his tongue and Mickey giggled.

  'I want to do that,' he announced.

  'What?' Tom was grinning. 'Wipe your nose with your tongue?'

  'Yes.'

  Emma gave the tiny nose a playful swipe with the cloth. 'I don't think so.'

  Mickey giggled again as he made a grab for the cloth, which Emma whisked from reach. Tom's grin widened. It was such a delicious sound, this little boy's laughter—kind of like the gurgle of pipes that were in dire need of a plumber's attention. Tom had been hearing it with increasing frequency in the days since Emma had come home with him and it never failed to make him smile.

  Did Emma's laugh sound anything like that? Tom hadn't heard it yet, which wasn't so surprising, but she was looking far less tired and sore now. She was smiling a lot more but not laughing aloud.

  Tom wanted to make her laugh. Not just to hear whether the sound was as contagiously joyful as Mickey's laugh but because he wanted to be able to make her feel that good.

  He wanted to make her that happy.

  When Emma glanced up as she sat down again, her face stilled and Tom realised that something had surprised her. Then she smiled. At him. It seemed a lot harder than normal to take his next breath.

  He could almost believe that Emma really liked him. More than really liked him. That her warmth was not simply gratitude for being helped out of the dire predicament of being injured and alone and penniless in a foreign country with a disabled child to care for.

  Tom's appetite deserted him and the silence suddenly became awkward. It was Emma who broke it hurriedly.

  'I heard from the insurance company today. The cheque's in the mail, apparently.'

  'That's great.' Or was it? Would Emma use the money to buy tickets to return home? It h
ad only been four days since her release from hospital, though. She wasn't really well enough yet to travel such a long distance. Or was she? 'Hey, how did your appointment at the hospital go today?'

  'I can start weight bearing properly on my leg.' Emma smiled brightly. 'And the rest of me is fine.'

  Tom's nod was more agreement than satisfaction. The rest of Emma was a lot more than fine in his opinion.

  'I went down to the emergency department to thank everyone for looking after me and especially for the way they looked after Mickey—and guess what?'

  'What?'

  'I got offered a job.'

  'Really?' A thread of excitement caught Tom. The thought of Emma staying for while and working at the hospital where he would see her often was vastly preferable to the image of waving her goodbye at the airport.

  'They're really short-staffed. Screaming out for nurses. I could do whatever shifts fitted in with looking after Mickey. They gave me a list of child-care centres that some of the staff use. One of them even caters for children with special needs.'

  Tom tried to keep his tone casual. 'Would you be interested?'

  Emma opened her mouth to respond but then closed it abruptly. She twisted in her chair.

  'Mickey? Have you had enough to eat?'

  'Yes.'

  'Want to go and play with Max for a bit before your bath?'

  'Can Max have a bath with me?'

  'No.' Emma stood up and lifted Mickey from his chair. 'But he can come and watch.'

  They were both silent as they watched Mickey shuffle across the floor. With surprising speed he vanished through the door, with Max close behind. Tom waited for Emma to speak because her expression suggested that she had something she hadn't wanted to say in front of Mickey. Sure enough, she waited only until the plume of Max's tail disappeared.

  'I'm not sure what I should do, Tom.'

  'Tell me.'

  Emma hesitated. She avoided meeting Tom's gaze. 'I told you that one of the reasons I came here was to contact Mickey's father?'

  'Yes.' The reminder was a splash of cold water. A wake-up call. 'Have you found him, then?'

  Emma shook her head. 'He works at the hospital. The nurses in ED wanted to look after Mickey while I had my appointment with the surgeon and so I took a few extra minutes to find his office.'

  Tom was confused. 'Who's office? Did you get lost?'

  'No. Simon's office.' Emma cleared her throat. 'Mickey's dad is a neurosurgeon. He specialises in spinal work.'

  'In Christchurch?' A redundant question but Tom was buying a little time. The cold feeling from that wake-up call was intensifying. Mickey's father had to be an attractive prospect. Intelligent. Well respected. Probably extremely wealthy.

  'Not right now.' Emma's brief smile was wry. 'He left town yesterday on a lecture tour to the States and UK. He won't be back till the end of the month.'

  'That's more than three weeks away.'

  Emma nodded. 'That's what I'm wondering about. Do I stay and wait for him to come back or should I take Mickey home?'

  Stay, Tom wanted to advise. I don't want you to leave. But did he want her to stay because she was waiting for a reunion with another man? What would Emma think if she knew how uneasy that made him feel?

  It was easier to say nothing but the silence felt even more awkward this time.

  'It seems crazy to have come all this way and then go home without even talking to him,' Emma continued. She was still avoiding eye contact with Tom. 'And I couldn't just tell him he has a son and then disappear again, could I? He might want the chance to get to know Mickey.'

  Tom's nod was slow. Of course Simon would want to get to know Mickey. No doubt he'd be more than keen to get to know Emma again as well.

  Emma sighed. 'But it's a long time. I couldn't afford to stay...unless I did take that job at the hospital.'

  'Would your visa allow you to work?'

  'I didn't need a visa to come here. As a British citizen, I can visit for up to six months without one. It sounds like it wouldn't be a hassle to get a temporary work permit so I could stay.'

  Six months was a long time. A lot could happen over a period of time like that.

  'And I'd have to find somewhere for us to live.'

  'You could stay here.' The words were out before Tom could consider the repercussions.

  'For six months?' Emma's jaw dropped. 'I couldn't do that!'

  'Why not?' Tom could have answered his own question perfectly easily. Because if the way he felt about Emma grew even a little more he could be setting himself up for a personal disaster of unprecedented proportions. But his brain was refusing to co-operate with the warning signals. Words that could only spell trouble kept emerging. 'This house is huge. Mickey's happy here.' Tom kept his tone light. 'Hey, Max is happy. It's nice heading off to work, knowing that he has some company for a change.'

  Emma's eyes were huge. And shining. She believed him. 'I'd pay rent, Tom. I can do that if I take that job.'

  'Do you want to? Take the job, I mean. I wouldn't want you to pay rent.'

  'Of course I'll pay. You've done so much for us already.'

  'That's what friends are for.'

  'And I would love to work in Emergency again—even for a little while. It was my favourite place in the hospital. Just listening to you talking about your work in the last few days has made me realise how much I miss it.'

  'So you'll stay?'

  Emma nodded. 'If you're really sure, Tom.'

  Tom wasn't sure of anything except that he didn't want this woman to disappear from his life. Not just yet, anyway. So he nodded.

  'I'm sure.'

  'Then I guess we'll stay for a bit, anyway. We can see how it goes.'

  As Emma finished speaking, Max appeared in the doorway with the pink soft toy dog dangling in a very undignified manner from his teeth. Large brown eyes suggested that a break from babysitting duties would be welcome and Emma laughed.

  And it was the same delicious gurgle that Mickey had.

  As Emma limped from the kitchen to find her son, Tom realised, just a little too late maybe, that he was lost.

  Was this what falling in love felt like?

  If he looked back in years to come, would he pinpoint that moment when Emma had laughed as the one in which his life had irrevocably changed?

  Warning bells sounded too loudly to be ignored now. Emma's a no-go area, Tom reminded himself sternly as he cleared the table. She's just admitted that she came halfway round the world to find the man who was the father of her child. If she'd only wanted to inform him, she could have written a letter.

  And falling in love shouldn't feel like this, he decided as he washed the dishes. So bitter-sweet.

  It could simply be a case of extreme physical attraction, in which case it shouldn't be too hard to take a step back. He'd have to take a very large step back if the attraction was one-sided anyway.

  What the hell had he been thinking—to invite Emma to stay for another month or more?

  Sliding the last plate into place on top of the stack in the cupboard, Tom knew what he needed to do in order to find safer ground. The opportunity came a short time later when Emma returned from getting Mickey into bed. She saw the extra mug of coffee on the table.

  'Is that for me? Thanks, Tom—you're an angel.' She sat down. 'This is exactly what I need.'

  And Tom knew exactly what he needed. He nodded and then spoke decisively.

  'Tell me about Simon,' he commanded Emma.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The question was startling.

  Emma had been rather reluctant to mention Simon at all after her initial impressions of Tom's disapproval, and when she had disclosed her dilemma of whether or not to stay in New Zealand to await Simon's return, there had been that odd little silence. Did Tom really want to talk about her ex-lover? Why? And why did Emma really not want to? Because there were so many other things she loved td talk to Tom about? Or was there a deeper reason she was avoiding? Such as her gr
owing feelings for this man?

  'Um...' Emma looked down at her coffee-mug. 'What would you like to know?'

  'How did you meet him?'

  That seemed safe enough to talk about. 'He was on sabbatical and he had operating privileges in the London hospital I worked in. He was invited to demonstrate the techniques he specialised in and I happened to be the scrub nurse in Theatre that day.'

  'And he was impressive?'

  'Oh, yes.' Emma couldn't help sounding convincing. Simon had been a very impressive man. No more impressive than Tom was in his own field, but Simon had the glamour and charisma of a very successful surgeon and she had been a young and impressionable nurse. 'The field of laparoscopic spinal surgery was very new back then. It was astonishing stuff. Simon noticed I was interested and invited me to attend some of his lectures.'

  'Hmm.' Tom sounded as though it was just what he had expected to hear. 'So he was around for a while?'

  'No. Only for a couple of months. He was spending part of his time in the States.' Emma hoped that Tom wouldn't ask how long it had been before the relationship had started because it seemed far too quick in hindsight. A matter of days. About as long as she'd known Tom, in fact, but Emma had always known very quickly whether she found a man attractive.

  Tom was so very different to Simon.

  But no less attractive.

  'How did you find out he was married?'

  Emma snorted. 'His wife turned up. She said she had come to London for a spot of shopping and needed his credit card. Funnily enough, I was waiting for him at the time myself. I was planning to tell him I was pregnant.'

  'What did you do?'

  'I showed his wife a chair she could sit in and then I walked out. I resigned the next day—told them I had a family emergency and wouldn't be able to work out any notice. They were very good about it.' Emma's smile was poignant. 'I guess I was convincing because it was kind of the truth.'

  'And you haven't spoken to him since?'

  Emma shook her head.

  'You must have been very upset.'

  'Yes.' A small word. It couldn't begin to encompass the devastation Emma had experienced.