With a Little Help (8 page)

She shouldn't have worried about dessert. The rum babas served with the Chantilly cream and praline ice cream were a hit. If the guests thought they were good, wait until they saw Carla's cake.

Emma waited until she judged the moment to be right, then lit the candles on the cake, the numbers three and five. Not wanting to trust the masterpiece to the waiters, she decided to carry it out herself.

The light was already low, the tables mostly lit by candles with strings of lanterns decorating the terrace. While the guests enjoyed dessert, Emma had sneaked out and located Nate's parents, asking them to start the singing as soon as she came out with the cake. She'd met Nate's mother a few times socially, but this was the first time she'd met his stepfather. It was a shame his birth father hadn't made it to the party, but what did you expect from a doctor?

Mitch Kelso had waved to her from the next table. He and his partner were sitting alongside Emma's mother, but the seat on Cherie's left was empty. Where was Emma's father? In the same instant, the answer became obvious; he had been called away.

Her annoyance on Nate's behalf fired automatically but she damped it down. Maybe her father was the only one available. Half the hospital's senior staff must be here tonight. The thought caught her unawares. Was she finally growing tolerant of the demands made on her family? On doctors in general? Fine time for that to happen.

Emma picked up the cake and carried it out to the terrace, catching a glimpse of Nate's face reddening as she walked up to him. The singing was lusty, if a little off-key. She put the cake in front of him. “Happy birthday, Nate.”

The second he caught sight of the toppling figure and the speech bubble, his expression relaxed. “Very
funny. When you reach this great age, I'm going to get you back. Promise.”

Not a promise he was likely to keep, since she wouldn't be part of his life in future.

“Blow the candles out, your guests are waiting.” The waiters were already serving the coffee and tea.

“They can wait.” He spoke in an undertone designed to reach her ears alone. “I haven't received your gift, Emma.”

“I didn't bring you anything,” she said in a matching undertone. She had thought about buying him something, then decided it wasn't appropriate given their relationship. Their
business
relationship. Strange how often she needed to remind herself of her role in his life.

His eyes reflected the flame of the candles. “You can't deny the birthday person, can you?”

“Easily.” She handed him a ribbon-trimmed cake knife. “There's nothing I can give you that you don't already have.” There was plenty he could give her, but she chased the thought away. “You'd better cut the cake, while I get back to work.”

 

I
RRITATED,
N
ATE PLUNGED
the knife into the cake as if aiming at someone's heart. “You'd think a surgeon would have a more delicate touch,” someone said close by. He managed a grin, glad the subdued light hid the effort. He was surrounded by friends
and family. The evening was a spectacular success, not least because of the amazing food. He should be a happy man.

One of his best friends, a well-known chef, had asked for Emma's phone number. Nate had grudgingly parted with her business card. Some friend. He should be glad Emma's business was getting some well-deserved recognition. But all he felt was good old-fashioned jealousy, and his only outlet was to stab the cake.

Once he'd made the first incision, and endured the jokes about his advancing age, the waiters took over, cutting and serving the cake. Nate wondered if Emma had baked the thing herself. If so, she was a miracle worker. She'd said she couldn't take on big events, yet had managed to satisfy his guests, and impress the food pros among them.

But what cost to herself? came the guilty thought. He realized he hadn't seen her assistant for a few hours and Sophie's car wasn't out back when he went looking for Luke. Only Emma's white van was parked next to Grace and Mike's Mercedes and his parents' car.

Hell of a time to think about the caterer's lack of help when the event was almost over. What would come next? Worrying about the grounds person who kept his garden in check? The pool guy? His housekeeper, Joanna? Maybe he
should
think more about them. Joanna
had put up with him for nearly five years. If she hadn't been married and living out, his unpredictable schedule would have meant a lot of hours in an empty house, waiting for him to show up. Since when did he give a damn?

Not until Emma. The woman was a walking conscience. She'd managed to drill into his skull with the precision of a brain surgeon. On autopilot, he kept up a steady banter with his guests, while wishing he could go to the kitchen and make sure she hadn't worked herself into the ground.

The rest of the evening seemed to go on forever. By the time he'd spoken with some of the members of the gourmet club, conducting a postmortem on their last event, he was up to here with small talk. His colleagues and his family all wanted a piece of him. He felt relieved when the crowd began to thin until only his parents and Grace and Mike Lockwood remained.

Emma's parents had gone, her mother obviously disgruntled at not seeing more of her daughter tonight, although she must have been aware how hard Emma was working. She'd apologized to Nate because Emma's dad had left early but Nate dismissed the apology. They'd all been there, done that. He was surprised his own pager had left him alone the whole night, suspecting his colleagues might have conspired to cover for him.

Around him, the waiters were cleaning up. Nate
linked his fingers behind his head and stretched. Why had he agreed to a big party when he'd have been happier relaxing in the gazebo with a glass of good red in his hand and Emma giving him a hard time about some aspect of his life she thought needed improving?

A woman's voice jolted him out of his reverie. “You look like you got every present except the one you really wanted, Nate.”

How well Grace knew him. “I did okay. Thanks for the silver scalpel cufflinks. The next patient who gives me a hard time will get cuffed to death.”

She laughed. “Glad you like them. The cake was brilliant, too. I must tell Emma. Everybody was impressed. The whole night was sensational.”

“Who's minding the boys? You could have brought them, you know.”

“Their grandmother. Not often Mike and I get to spend an evening on our own, but they'd have been bored out of their skulls, and bored kids are a recipe for trouble.”

His thoughts immediately jumped to Luke. The teenager wasn't with his parents, who had moved to a table by the pool, taking their wineglasses with them.

“Have you seen Luke?” Nate asked Grace.

“He went inside, probably playing a computer game. Want me to look for him after I congratulate Emma?”

“No, I'll do it.” A worrying sensation crawled along the back of his neck. He couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, but knew better than to ignore his instincts. He followed Grace inside.

When she headed for the kitchen, he went to the den where a large-screen TV and gaming gear were set up. The equipment had been used, he noticed, but nothing put away. Typical Luke. Nate turned off the blaring TV and stepped over the consoles. Luke wasn't in the bathroom or any of the rooms he checked. Grace's warning rang in his ears. Where the devil was that teenager?

Voices rose at the back of the house where the cars were parked. Suddenly Nate heard the whump of an explosion, and the window on that side was bathed in an orange, flickering glow. One of the voices became a scream. Nate ran.

A teenager was laughing and tossing firecrackers at the cars parked near the back door of the house. A scorch mark scarred the side of Grace's vehicle. The door of Emma's van stood open and another explosion rocked the vehicle, which lit up with hectic color. Nate's first sickening thought was that Luke was the vandal, until he saw his half brother grappling with a second young man in the driveway.

Nate recognized the gang member who'd turned tail the night he'd thwarted their plans to rob the convenience store. His relief that Luke wasn't responsible was short-lived when he saw Emma trying to wrest
a firecracker from the first man. The screams Nate had heard were her fury. She must have been loading the van when the gang members turned up.

Nate's stepfather appeared around the corner of the house, closely followed by Mike Lockwood. “Call the police now,” Nate yelled.

Josh pulled out a phone while Mike ran to Luke and tried to separate the fighting pair. Nate grabbed a metal garden stake, skimming it boomerang-style at the legs of the man holding Emma. He turned at the last second, the metal striking a glancing blow. With a scream of pain and anger, he released Emma and turned on Nate. “You friggin' bastard, this time you're dead meat.”

Nate put himself between the man and Emma. “Go into the house,” he said without taking his eyes off his would-be assailant.

“I'm not leaving you with this thug,” she protested.

“I can't deal with him and protect you.”

“Who asked you to? My van's on fire.”

Next she'd be trying to put the fire out. In the part of his mind not focused on anticipating the thug's next move, Nate had to admire her courage. She'd taken the gang member on without a thought for her own safety. “The van's replaceable, you're not,” he snapped.

The young punk sneered at the concern and Nate could almost hear the wheels in his mind turning.
He thought he had a lever he could use against Nate. And damn it, he did. Nate tried to come between the thug and Emma but she stood her ground.

He glanced at her, trying to assess the danger she'd placed herself in. In the split second he was distracted, the gang member propelled one of the heavy banquet trolleys toward Nate. But the slope of the driveway sent the trolley careening toward Emma, who had backed into a corner of the house with nowhere to run. This time her scream held real fear.

N
ATE DIDN'T HESITATE.
He threw himself sideways to intercept the trolley before Emma could be crushed against the wall. But the heavy metal object was an aimed missile. He caught an edge, throwing his weight into making the trolley swing around. He had the satisfaction of hearing sirens, then the deflected cart slammed his right arm against the brickwork.

“Nate!” Emma's scream drowned out Nate's howl of pain. With his uninjured hand, he tried to push the trolley away, but it took Emma and Mike's combined efforts to shift the thing. Behind them, two uniformed police were moving in, with a fire truck close behind.

The wall at his back was the only thing keeping Nate on his feet. Emma reached to touch his arm and he held her at bay. “Is it broken?” she asked.

Too shocked to speak, he shook his head, biting his lip to stop from groaning. Emma already looked frightened enough. In fact she looked more frightened than she had on her own account, but he was in no shape to go there.

He saw the police round up the intruders. When
they were about to include Luke, Mike went to them and explained who he was, and the part he'd played in fending off the gang. He also gestured toward Nate, who heard his name mentioned as the owner of the house.

A uniformed woman approached him. “Do you need an ambulance, sir?”

No way was he letting himself be carted away in an ambulance. “I'll be okay. I'm pretty sure my wrist is only sprained.”
Only
was a poor word to describe the pain he was in, but he kept that to himself.

“All the same, you should have a doctor look at that,” the officer said.

“I am a doctor.”

She actually rolled her eyes. Obviously she'd heard the stories about doctors making the worst patients. He became aware of Grace at his side. “I'm Grace Lockwood, also a doctor. I'll examine Dr. Hale,” she said.
If he'll let me.
Nate he heard what she didn't say.

While the police dealt with the scene outside, he let Grace steer him back into the house, aware of Emma welded to his other side. “How can I help?” she asked.

“He'll need an ice pack or some ice wrapped in a towel,” she instructed. “Ibuprofen if you can find some.”

“First aid kit, bathroom off the den,” he said. Pain radiated down his hand and up into his forearm. A
double Scotch was indicated, but he knew no doctor would agree until they learned the damage they were dealing with.

Annoyed with himself, he sat down at Grace's instigation, and allowed her to examine his arm. “No tenderness at the base of your thumb?” she asked when she reached there.

“It's one big tenderness,” he said. “I don't think I've fractured the scaphoid. Feels more like ligament damage.”

Her eyes narrowed. “When did you develop X-ray vision?”

“I'll get it x-rayed. I know the drill.”

Emma hurried back with ice swathed in a towel and watched anxiously as Grace finished examining Nate's arm and applied the pack to his wrist. “Nate, I'm so sorry,” she said.

Breathing through the pain, he shook his head. “Wasn't your fault. If anything it's mine. The intruders are the two young punks I headed off when I brought Luke home the night we did the bay walk.”

At the mention of the walk, Grace looked from her patient to Emma and back again, but wisely made no comment. “How's the ice feeling?”

“Better,” he said, although the benefit was minimal. “I could use some ibuprofen, though.”

Emma held out two capsules and a glass of water, hovering while he swallowed the painkillers. Then
she took the glass from him. “The police want to speak to us when you're ready.”

“Can they come in here?”

“I'll check.”

 

B
Y THE TIME
E
MMA GOT OUTSIDE,
the fire was out and the police had the gang members in the back of a squad car. They were taking a statement from Luke while his parents stood at his side. Mike Lockwood saw her and came over. “How's Nate?”

“In pain. Grace is taking care of him.”

Some of the worry eased from Mike's expression. “My wife's probably the only one he'd cooperate with. I told the police what I saw, including how Nate came to be injured.”

“Nate wants to know if they can interview him inside. He's putting on a brave front, but hurting more than he's letting on. Oh, Mike, how could this happen?”

He heard the regret in her voice. “You can't blame yourself, Emma.”

“That's what Nate says, but if he hadn't tried to save me, I'd be the injured one, not him.”

“And Nate would be beating himself up for letting that happen.”

“You know him well, don't you?”

Mike nodded. “He introduced me to Grace when they were at medical school together.”

“You're a doctor?”

“Hospital administrator. I know all about doctors as patients, and Grace will have her hands full with this one.”

Emma's fear surged anew. “He thinks he's done some ligament damage.”

Mike smiled. “A sprain to you and me. If the injury's moderate, he'll probably need a splint and a couple of days of cold therapy, then three weeks or so of recovery time.”

She felt the ground shift beneath her. “He's a surgeon. He needs his hands.”

“All the more reason to rest and give himself time to recover.” Mike placed his hands on her shoulders. “Nate's one of the most brilliant surgeons in the profession. He knows what's at stake and what he'll have to do. He may not be a willing patient, but he won't put his career at risk.”

“He already did,” she said in a low voice. While the drama was happening, she'd felt coldly distant, but now heard her voice tremble. She suspected her knees weren't going to hold her up much longer.

Mike saw her start to crumble. “I'll talk to the cops. You go inside and sit down.”

She didn't argue. The fire in her van was out, but the sight of the damage as she passed made her wince.

Inside, Grace was securing an elastic bandage around Nate's wrist. “This will hold you until you get to X-ray.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tonight. I'm taking you to the hospital myself as soon as we're done here.”

He dropped the argument but the set of his jaw suggested he was far from giving in. Catching sight of Emma's face, Grace steered her to the couch beside Nate and pulled a throw rug around her shoulders. Her cool fingers dropped to Emma's wrist.

“I'm fine,” she insisted.

Grace released her. “Luckily, I think you are. Sit still and rest, and you might stay fine.”

Emma let her head drop back against the couch. “Your car doesn't look too bad, but the van is a mess.”

“They can be fixed,” Grace echoed Nate. “You two stay put. I'll see what's keeping the police.”

Alone with Nate, Emma forced her eyes open. “Thanks for what you did tonight.”

“What on earth made you confront those idiots on your own?”

His anger lanced through her. Not personal, she told herself. Men often lashed out when they were in pain. “When they turned up, I thought they might belong to one of your guests.”

“Until they started throwing firecrackers. Didn't stop you, I noticed.”

“All I could think of was saving my van.” She suspected he knew she couldn't afford a replacement.

“Your insurance should cover most of the cost, and the damage may look worse than it is.”

Like his wrist, she thought. Grace had used a scarf as a temporary sling, lifting his arm above the level of his heart. “Does your arm hurt much?”

“Starting to care about me, Emma?”

The steely-voiced question made her jerk her head toward him. “Of course I am. You were injured saving me.”

“Don't read too much into this,” he cautioned. “Anyone would have done the same.”

But they hadn't, he had. She considered saying so, then thought better of it. He didn't want her getting ideas about him any more than she wanted to be having them. If they kept sneaking into her mind, that was for her alone to know.

Despite the throw, she began to shiver and felt his good arm come around her shoulders. Don't think, don't reason, just accept the comfort he was offering, she ordered herself. Not easy to do when his touch set her nerves ablaze.

Grace came back with one of the officers. Emma expected Nate to pull his arm away but he didn't, and again she saw Grace's speculative look. By the time they'd given their statements, Emma felt her face glowing, but any move she made now would only make his touch more obvious, so she stilled and suffered.

“Right, hospital time,” Grace said after the officers left.

“I don't need a hospital,” Emma said, thankful to have an excuse to stand. Her legs felt rubbery but held her up.

“You need a ride home,” Grace pointed out. “Your van doesn't look drivable. Besides, I might need some help with my patient.”

Nate muttered something about pushy women doctors, but allowed them to help him off the couch and into the front seat of Grace's car. The police had arranged a ride home for Mike to relieve his mother of babysitting duties. Emma settled into the backseat. She felt bruised all over and more tired than she could remember.

Nate's parents were staying at the house until Nate got back. They watched anxiously as Grace fastened his seat belt, careful not to jar his injured arm. Before she could close the door, Luke pushed between them and up to his half brother. “You okay?”

“I will be,” Nate assured him. “What about you?”

The teenager gestured dismissively. “Nibs punches like a girl. Couldn't hurt me if he tried.”

“You were quite a hero tonight,” Nate said.

“If I hadn't blabbed about the party on Facebook, Elk and Nibs wouldn't have showed up and caused trouble.”

“You didn't invite them here.”

“No, but—”

“Then it isn't your fault. Got that?”

It was what Luke wanted to believe, Emma saw. His face twisted into a mask of distress. “There's something else.”

Nate's shoulders tensed, but he said easily, “Spill.”

“I'm not seeing those guys again.”

“If they threw you out of the gang, it isn't the end of the world.”

“They didn't throw me out. I told them what they can do with their gang. Doing graffiti and stuff is one thing, but they didn't have to hurt you.”

Nate grasped the teenager's hand with his good one. “They didn't do much damage. I'll still be able to slaughter you at ‘Dread Commando.'”

Luke managed a smile. “You and whose robo army?”

Grace tapped the steering wheel. “If you two cyber warriors have finished posturing, I'd like to see my kids again before they're grown-up.” Luke slammed the car door and stepped back, his parents on either side of him as she pulled away.

“Sounds as if Luke learned a few things tonight,” Emma said.

“Wouldn't count on it. He's had the chance to mend his ways before.”

“You've never been hurt because of something he did before. It could make a difference.”

Grace drove carefully, glancing occasionally at her patient. “Emma has a point.”

Intercepting one of the looks, Nate growled, “I didn't break into pieces, Grace. It's only a sprained wrist.”

“What would you tell a patient who presented with a preconceived diagnosis?”

“If they were right, I'd thank them for saving taxpayers' dollars on unnecessary tests.”

“Sure you would. Then you'd order the tests anyway.”

Listening to them was like being at home with her family, Emma thought, the reminder like a dash of cold water. Tonight, she'd almost—almost—let herself get past Nate's career to the man inside the white coat. When he'd placed his arm around her, she'd felt warmed more than physically.

Exhausted and upset, she was in completely the wrong state of mind to think about anything but getting some sleep, then sorting out the mess of her van and equipment. The attraction she felt for Nate was a far bigger mess, but she didn't dare let her mind go there in her present condition.

Every part of her ached and her limbs trembled. When Grace pulled into Bennelong Hospital, Emma felt like bursting into tears. But she dragged herself together. Nate had been hurt saving her. No matter how he felt about her, he'd have to deal with her concern for him tonight. The rest could wait until she satisfied herself he was going to be all right.

Grace parked her car in a marked spot. “One of
the perks of seniority is an allocated car space.” This late, there was plenty of visitor parking but Emma could imagine how busy the place would be during the day.

Not waiting for assistance, Nate levered himself out of the car. “Take Emma home, Grace, I know my way from here.”

“Not a chance.” Grace laughed as she and Emma spoke in unison.

“The minute I let you out of my sight, you'll head for your office and hide out there,” Grace added.

“I do not hide out in my office.” He sounded pained, as much by the accusation as by his injury. “Tell this interfering woman that you'd rather go home,” he urged Emma.

“Can't see any interfering women here, only your doctor and me.”

He made a face. “Two against one, and an injured one, is hardly fair.”

“
Now
you're injured, are you?” To Emma, Grace said, “Let's get him onto a gurney before he turns back into Mr. Invincible.”

“Dr. Invincible to you,” he growled. “And I don't need a blasted gurney. I can walk in under my own steam.”

“Is he always this difficult?” Emma asked, as he strode ahead of them toward the entrance.

“Trust me, this is mellow.”

He looked back. “Emma's not interested.”

A lot of other people were, she saw as they entered the reception area. Around her, eyebrows went up at the sight of an injured Nathan Hale turning up at one in the morning. Among the night staff, whispered comments greeted his entry, but nobody said anything to Nate himself. Which signified what? In his domain, her father was an autocrat. His colleagues respected him, but there was little warmth and he didn't encourage any. What was Nate's preferred style?