The Family She Needs

‘Yes.’

Silence. Then, ‘I can’t.’

More silence.

She finally gave up waiting for him to expand on that. ‘So you’re determined to return to Africa?’

‘Yes.’

That was all she got. Yes, with a load of caution behind it.

‘Why?’ She could also do short and to the point.

‘It’s where I work.’

‘Oh, come on. You sign up for one contract at a time, not indefinitely.’

Dislike for herself rose and soured her mouth, but she had a battle to fight and listening to her heart right now would not win what she needed from him.

Then Logan said, ‘The doctors at your local hospital work from one contract to the next, too. That’s how it’s done. They still say they work in Nelson, or wherever.’

True.

‘Aren’t you worried you might get kidnapped again? Or worse?’

Her heart squeezed so tightly she feared she was having a cardiac incident. A medical one, not a romantic one. She did not want Logan facing danger again. He might not be quite so lucky next time.

‘Of course I am—even when the odds are against it.’

She shut her eyes against the pain in his voice, against his courage and his need. Her chest rose and fell as deep, slow breaths filled her lungs, dribbled out. I need to support him and let him go without laying on guilt for doing what he wants.

So all she had to do was tell him to go, as she’d wanted to do all along, and yet something held her back. Her obstinate heart?

‘I think I understand.’

‘Do you? Really?’

His scepticism drove her to say, ‘You’re braver than me. By a long way.’

Hiss. The milk had boiled over. She swore. ‘Sorry—got to go.’ Click. End of conversation. Wipe, wipe—milk everywhere. Damn, damn—sob. Rinse, squeeze the cloth—sob, sob.

Tossing the cloth in the sink, she headed to bed for a long, sleepless night.

Somehow they had to work together in the morning. Could she pull a sick day? That would work. Not.

CHAPTER TWELVE

KARINA SURVIVED THE morning by avoiding Logan as much as possible. Later she barely coped when he returned Mickey to her at dinnertime, and struggled with Mickey’s tears and tantrums when Logan walked out through the door to go to his motel.

When Mickey refused to get undressed for bed she knew with absolute certainty that she had to walk away and let him have his way. She was in danger of screaming at him. And she’d never forgive herself if she let the despair that had dogged her all day form into words to lash him with. None of this was Mickey’s fault.

‘Go to bed in your clothes,’ she said, and pulled the covers down.

Mickey climbed into bed and turned his head away.

‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’

Silence was his answer. Had he been taking lessons from his uncle?

She cleaned up the kitchen, folded the washing, got some mince out of the freezer for tomorrow night’s dinner, sat at the table with the mail, pushed that aside and got up. Turned off the lights and went to bed. Her body ached with tiredness. Her head was about to split in half. Her stomach was a knot.

She lay on her back, staring at the darkened ceiling, waiting for sleep to creep in and give her some relief from her thoughts for a while. Waited and waited.

‘Karina...’ Mickey stood by her bed. ‘I’m lonely.’

You and me both, my boy.

She tossed the covers back. ‘Come on, get in. We’ll cuddle down together.’

She wrapped her arms around his body and held him close. And finally nodded off.

To dream of a hot, sexy man with demons in his head and concern for others in his heart...

‘Wake up, Karina.’ Mickey ran a finger over her eyelids.

Rolling over with a groan, she stared at the digital clock. Seven-thirty-five. What had happened? She never slept this late.

‘Come on, sleepy head. Time we were up and about.’ She pushed out of bed, feeling as if she’d done ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. Except she’d never make the end of one bout. ‘You have your shower first.’

‘I don’t want a shower.’ Mickey still wore his clothes, and his flushed face was screwed up ready for an outburst.

‘Okay, sweetheart, here’s the deal. You can’t go to see Uncle Logan if you don’t shower.’

Since when had bribery become a part of her repertoire?

‘I’ll find you your favourite sweatshirt while you’re getting clean.’

Blackmail as well?

He slid off the bed, thumping onto the floor. ‘You can’t come in the bathroom.’

Since when?

‘Promise to wash your face, behind your ears and between your toes? And all parts in between?’

‘Will Uncle Logan check?’

‘Absolutely.’

Mickey dashed down to the bathroom, suddenly eager to get in the shower.

She could kill for a cup of tea and some headache pills. Not necessarily in that order.

She found Mickey’s clothes for the day. Guilt at her handling of his reticence over showering bothered her. Using Logan as a bribe hadn’t been right, but it had been the only thing to come to mind. Unfortunately the chances of Mickey forgetting by the time he saw his uncle were about zero. She’d deal with Logan’s reaction when it happened.

She opened the bathroom door enough to slip the clothes through, then closed it and went to the kitchen to poke through the cupboard for painkillers.

‘Where are they?’

Shifting recipe books, packets of antibiotics for Mickey’s previous infections, she couldn’t find what she wanted. They’d be in the bathroom cupboard.

‘Go away!’ Mickey shouted.

She’d completely forgotten she was banned from there. ‘Sorry, Mickey, I’m going—’

His little torso was black and purple with bruising.

‘Mickey? Sweetheart? What’s happened?’

She knelt in front of him, took the towel out of his hands and began drying him ever so gently as she studied every part of him. Had she discovered the reason he hadn’t wanted to undress for bed?

‘I’m sorry.’

He was sorry?

‘This isn’t your fault, Mickey. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

If he’d fallen he wouldn’t have bruises on both his stomach and his chest, his back and his thighs. Leukaemia. The word landed in her brain like a bomb. Leukaemia. The dreaded disease that many children with Down syndrome contracted often first appeared as bruising due to low platelet numbers.

Leukaemia—with all its treatments and tests and transplants and—

I’m going to throw up.

Not in front of Mickey. Swallowing the bile, she struggled to get her stomach under control. Sweat broke out on her brow and upper lip.

‘I haven’t been naughty, Karina. Promise.’ Fat tears ran down his face.

‘I know you haven’t,’ she croaked, before dropping the towel and placing the softest kiss on each cheek. ‘You’re my man, and my man’s good. Let’s get you dressed and warm, then we’ll call Uncle Logan.’

She wanted to hug him tight but didn’t dare. What if she added to those bruises?

‘Will he be angry at me?’

‘No way. He loves you.’ What was this about? ‘Mickey, did someone hurt you?’

‘No—o.’

Holding him carefully against her, she stood up. ‘Let’s get the phone.’

‘I’m not going to hospital,’ he hiccupped against her neck. ‘I don’t like being sick.’

‘I know, sweetheart. I really do.’ Right now it’s the last place I want to go too, but it?

??s where we’re headed.

Logan answered on the first ring. ‘Karina? You okay?’

‘You need to come home and see Mickey. Urgently.’