Wish Upon a Star

Dreading the inevitable confrontation, she took her time helping Ruth to clear up Theatre and then waited in the recovery room until Gail was well enough to be transferred to the ward.

It was nearing the end of her shift when she finally returned to the labour ward. There was no sign of Jake.

Weak with relief that she was going to be spared a difficult conversation, at least for the time being, Miranda found Ruth. ‘Is there anything else you want me to do?’

‘Are you joking?’ Ruth gave her a smile. ‘You’ve already worked far longer than you should have done, considering it’s Boxing Day. I’m sure you have places you want to be. Go home.’

Miranda gave a wan smile. ‘I’m fine.’ Exhausted would have been a more appropriate word but she’d grown used to tiredness over the last few months. And there was no denying that the money would be very welcome. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Marvellous. Thank you so much for today. You were my present from Father Christmas,’ Ruth joked as she checked on the number of delivery packs. ‘I was expecting to struggle through Christmas with no staff, and suddenly they called me out of the blue and said that they had a midwife available.’

‘I was relieved to get work,’ Miranda confessed, running a hand over her bump and pulling a face. ‘I thought you might not want me.’

And then she would have been in trouble because she needed every penny she could save. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to work at all…

‘You’re fit and healthy. That’s all that matters. See you tomorrow.’

Miranda grabbed her jumper and jacket and walked slowly to the set of railings where she’d left her bike. She was so tired, she wanted to cry. Her legs ached, her head throbbed and her eyelids drooped. All she wanted was her bed. At least she’d be too tired to notice the grimness of her surroundings, she thought as she walked across the badly lit car park. She doubted she was even going to find the energy to undress.

She’d just stooped to take the lock off her bike when a smooth male voice came from directly behind her.

‘Running away, Miranda?’

Not having expected to see anyone, she gave a cry of alarm and covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh—you frightened me.’

It was Jake and he was leaning against the railings, watching her, his handsome face cold and unsmiling.

‘Why?’ His tone was as chilly as the weather. ‘Expecting someone else, perhaps? Your husband?’

Tall and broad-shouldered, his blue eyes glittered dangerously in the darkness and he looked nothing like a respectable consultant. Nothing like the kind, reassuring man she’d seen calming Gail and Lucy earlier.

The anger in his eyes was unmistakable and her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.

She hadn’t anticipated that he’d be angry when he discovered that she was pregnant, but neither had she anticipated the fact that she’d see him again.

They said that your sins always caught up with you and it seemed as though her sin, although small, was currently biting at her heels.

She should never have gone home with him and she definitely shouldn’t have kissed him.

She ignored the tension in his jaw and the question in his eyes and tried to turn the conversation to safe ground. ‘You were amazing in Theatre.’ She’d hoped that reminding him that they were colleagues would be sufficient to encourage him to back off, but his gaze didn’t shift from hers.

‘I don’t want to talk about work, Miranda.’ His blue eyes were hard. ‘I want to talk about what the hell you were doing, spending the day with me yesterday—kissing me—when you’re pregnant with another man’s baby!’

She didn’t even have enough energy to defend herself.

A freezing gust of wind howled across the car park and a few flakes of snow wafted past her face. She was cold, tired and she still had to cycle the two miles home. The last thing she needed was confrontation. And she didn’t need to think about a kiss that she’d spent one whole night and day trying to forget.

‘Can we talk about this another time?’

‘No.’ His voice was thin. ‘We can’t.’

‘All right.’ She turned to face him, so tired that her own temper started to bubble up. ‘For a start, I didn’t kiss you—you kissed me.’

‘So this is my fault?’

How could she ever have thought he was a nice man? Looming over her now, he looked tough, intimidating and just about as far from nice as it was possible to be.

She was a lousy judge of men, she decided with no small degree of self-derision. Lousy.