A Wife for Dr. Cunningham Read online

  Join the dedicated team in St. Stephen’s Emergency Department, where the pace is hectic, tempers flare and sexual tension is in the air!

  In A Wife for Dr. Cunningham, junior doctor Hannah Blake and Dr. Robert Cunningham can’t stop striking sparks off one another. But will they take their fiery relationship beyond the emergency room?

  Dr. Mathieson’s Daughter by Maggie Kingsley

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve always thought working in an emergency department must be one of the most exciting, terrifying and challenging jobs in the world. When my own mother was whisked into an emergency unit recently, I found myself wondering what motivated the people who work there. They’d have to be very special people of course—knowing every day could bring life-threatening situations—but surely these people must also be like you and me, with their own fears, hopes and dreams? These thoughts inspired me to create Robert Cunningham and Hannah Blake, and I do hope you enjoy reading about them in A Wife for Dr. Cunningham, as much as I enjoyed telling their story.

  And as for the next book in the EMERGENCY DOCTOR’S DUO, Dr. Mathieson’s Daughter? Well, I couldn’t possibly leave blond-haired, blue-eyed Elliot Mathieson with no one in his life, now could I? So I thought he should find happiness, too, but not in a way he could ever have imagined! Coming soon!

  Maggie Kingsley

  A Wife for Dr. Cunningham

  Maggie Kingsley

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  DR ROBERT CUNNINGHAM groaned as he stared down at the file on his desk, the file with its neatly typed label proclaiming that Dr Hannah Blake had been appointed to St Stephen’s Accident and Emergency Unit as its newest member of staff.

  He didn’t need this, not right now. Right now what he needed was sleep—hour upon hour of dreamless sleep—not some junior doctor straight out of med school, hanging onto his coat tails wanting guidance and advice.

  If he’d only had his wits about him he would have attempted to persuade Mr Mackay, the consultant in charge of A and E, to allow Elliot to take care of this Hannah Blake. Taking care of women was the blond-haired, blue-eyed SHO’s speciality, whereas he—

  Don’t think, his mind warned. Don’t remember. Quickly he pushed the file to one side and reached for his morning mail, only to discover it was the usual boring collection of advertising circulars and bumph. The usual uninspiring selection sent to every special registrar in the country—except for the catalogue at the bottom. The catalogue addressed to Dr Laura Cunningham.

  Sudden tears filled his eyes as he gazed down at it.

  A year.

  It was almost a year since Laura died and yet just the sight of her name on an envelope was enough to remind him of her laughter and vitality. A year, and yet simply seeing his wife’s name in print was all it took to prod the still raw wound inside him.

  Angrily he crushed the catalogue between his fingers. What right had companies to send out mail to people long since dead and buried? What right had they to remind relatives of the loved ones they had lost? Did they think he needed reminding? Did they think he’d ever forget?

  And did his boss honestly believe he was the right person to wet-nurse a new member of staff? he wondered bitterly as his eyes fell on Hannah Blake’s file again. The A and E department of St Stephen’s Hospital in London was one of the busiest in the city, and certainly no place for any inexperienced girl.

  Grimly he got to his feet and strode out of his office and down the corridor. Well, he’d give this new girl the facts of A and E life, but that was all he would do. The last thing he needed right now was a babysitting job.

  Or Little Miss Muffet in a white coat, he groaned silently when he opened the staffroom door and saw the girl standing by the window.

  ‘Dr Blake?’ he asked, hoping he might be wrong.

  ‘Yes, I’m Hannah Blake.’ She nodded, turning eagerly towards him. ‘And you are…?’

  Old, he decided, as he stared at her elfin-shaped face and mop of curly golden-brown hair cut into a short bob. He’d just turned thirty-four the previous month, and yet suddenly he felt old, and tired, and jaundiced.

  ‘I’m Robert Cunningham, special registrar,’ he said quickly, seeing the eagerness in her face beginning to turn to uncertainty as her eyes took in his crumpled brown corduroys and shirt, and his dishevelled black hair.

  Her smile returned and she held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, sir.’

  He ought to have told her that everyone called him Robert—he should have done—but all he could think as he continued to stare at her was that once, a very long time ago, he must have looked like this—optimistic, eager, keen. Once he must have believed the world was full of endless possibilities, and suddenly all he wanted to do was stamp on that youthful vitality, crush that idealism and enthusiasm, which seemed somehow to mock him.

  ‘OK, there are four things to remember when you’re working in A and E,’ he declared, deliberately ignoring her outstretched hand. ‘Anything you don’t know, or aren’t sure of, ask me or our SHO, Elliot Mathieson. Keep out from under my feet at all times, always erase the name of the last patient you’ve treated from the white board immediately, and everyone contributes fifty pence a week towards the cost of our coffee and biscuits, whether they take them or not.’

  And with that he sat down, put his feet on one of the coffee-tables and pointedly closed his eyes.

  ‘That’s it?’ she said faintly. ‘I mean, I expected…. I rather hoped—’

  ‘For a guided tour?’ he said, opening one cold grey eye. ‘A brass band—a welcome to St Stephen’s buffet?’

  A deep flush of colour stained her cheeks. ‘No, of course not, but—’

  ‘Dr Blake, according to your CV, you’re a doctor. Unless that CV lied, I suggest you go away and do some doctoring and leave me to get some sleep in peace.’

  And without waiting for her reply he closed his eyes again.

  Well, her special registrar was a real charmer, and no mistake, Hannah decided as she walked out of the staffroom, only just resisting the impulse to slam the door behind her. Of course she hadn’t expected a welcome mat but a little bit of civility wouldn’t have cost him anything. A little bit of kindness wouldn’t have killed him.

  And she’d thought he’d looked quite nice, too, when he’d first opened the staffroom door. Not nice as in handsome—his features were far too sharp and angular for that—but nice as in approachable, understanding, and then he’d virtually told her to get lost.

  A prickle of tears welled in her throat and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and angrily blew her nose. She hadn’t cried since she was six years old and she wasn’t about to start now because of one rude man with a shock of untidy black hair and a pair of cold grey eyes.

  So what if Robert Cunningham clearly considered her the lowest form of medical life? And so what if the St Stephen’s Infirmary looked even more dilapidated now than it had done when she’d come for her interview two months ago in June?

  She’d wanted a junior post in London, in a hospital as far away from Edinburgh as she could get, and she’d got one. It was up to her to make a success of it, and everyone in this hospital couldn’t be as rude as the special registrar.

  They weren’t.

  The minute she stuck her head round the treatment-room door, a plump girl with thick black hair caught up into a high ponytail under her cap smiled a welcome. ‘Can I help you at all
, Doctor?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Hannah replied fervently. ‘I’m Hannah Blake.’

  The girl gazed at her blankly for a second, then clapped an apologetic hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, cripes! Our consultant, Mr Mackay, did tell me you were starting on the 4th of August but I’m afraid I completely forgot. Jane Halden,’ she continued, holding out her hand. ‘Senior Sister in A and E for my sins. Flo, come and meet Dr Blake,’ she called, beckoning to the tall, striking-looking black girl who had emerged from one of the cubicles. ‘Dr Blake, this is Staff Nurse Floella Lazear, one of the best staff nurses in the business.’

  ‘Flattery will get you nowhere, Jane!’ The girl laughed. ‘Nice to meet you, Doctor.’

  ‘Please, call me, Hannah—both of you,’ she insisted. ‘Would either of you know where I might find Dr Mathieson? I really ought to introduce myself to him.’

  ‘He’s in cubicle 3 at the moment with Kelly Ross, our student nurse, examining a possible perforated appy,’ Floella replied, ‘but I wouldn’t worry too much about introducing yourself to Elliot. Our SHO has a built-in homing device when it comes to new female members of staff.’

  ‘A built-in homing device?’ Hannah repeated, bewildered.

  The staff nurse’s deep brown eyes danced. ‘Dr Mathieson may not be mad and bad, but he’s most definitely dangerous to know, Hannah.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Flo,’ Jane protested. ‘Elliot’s great to work with…’

  ‘And thirty-two-years old, blond, blue-eyed, and absolutely gorgeous,’ the staff nurse grinned. ‘Unfortunately he’s also divorced with absolutely no intention of ever settling down again, so—’

  ‘St Stephen’s is littered with broken hearts,’ Hannah finished for her with a laugh.

  ‘Too right.’ Floella nodded. ‘If you’re wanting fun with no commitment, Elliot’s your man, but a long-term relationship? Forget it.’

  If the staff nurse intended her comment as a warning, Hannah didn’t need it. Being a useful member of the team was all she was interested in, and after what had happened with Chris…No, she didn’t need any warning about handsome male doctors.

  ‘You’ll have met our consultant—Mr Mackay?’ Jane queried.

  Hannah nodded. ‘I met him when I came for my interview. He seemed very nice.’

  ‘He is,’ the sister agreed. ‘Though you probably won’t see very much of him unless it’s something really serious. Robert Cunningham—our special reg—pretty much runs the show on a day-to-day basis, and—’

  ‘I met him this morning,’ Hannah interrupted. ‘He seemed…he seemed a little tired when I saw him,’ she said, determined to be charitable.

  ‘Exhausted, more like.’ Jane grimaced. ‘God knows when that man last ate a decent meal, or had a good night’s sleep. He practically lives in the department, and has done ever since…’

  The rest of what Sister Halden had been going to say died on her lips as the doors to the treatment room suddenly banged open and two paramedics rushed in, pushing a trolley.

  ‘Stabbing incident! BP 60 over 40, GCS 3-3-4. No breath sounds on the left side, so we tubed him, Doc!’

  Doc.

  He meant her, Hannah realised as Floella and Jane instantly slipped into their professional roles and began cutting off the young man’s clothing and attaching him to a ventilator. He meant she should do something, and do it quickly. And why shouldn’t he think that? She was the only one wearing a white coat, and she was the only one doing nothing.

  ‘Do we know his name—age—anything?’ she asked with a calmness she was very far from feeling.

  ‘He’s Ian Simpson, according to his wallet,’ the paramedic replied. ‘And at a guess I’d say he’s between twenty-three and twenty-six.’

  Quickly Hannah placed her stethoscope on the injured man’s chest. The paramedic had been right. There were definitely no breath sounds on the left side. The young man’s left lung had collapsed, and blood and air were seeping into his chest cavity.

  ‘IV lines, Floella?’ she asked.

  The staff nurse glanced up at the drip bags containing the saline solution which was temporarily providing a substitute for the blood Ian Simpson was losing. ‘Open and running.’

  ‘BP, Jane?’

  ‘Still 60 over 40,’ the sister replied as she connected the injured man to the cardiac monitor.

  Sixty over forty was much too low, and Ian Simpson’s GCS—his score of consciousness on the Glasgow coma scale—wasn’t a whole lot better.

  ‘Hannah?’

  Jane Halden was gazing at her anxiously. The heart monitor was showing an increasingly uneven heart rhythm. With blood and air seeping into his chest cavity, Ian Simpson’s heart was having to beat much too fast, trying to get enough oxygen to his brain, and if they didn’t insert a chest drain—and fast—he could have a heart attack.

  ‘Do you want me to page Robert?’ the sister continued, clearly sensing Hannah’s indecision.

  And have him think she couldn’t cope? Have him think—as he all too obviously already suspected—that she was useless? She’d watched a chest drain being inserted many times, had even performed a couple herself under supervision. Well, now was the time to find out whether she could do one alone.

  ‘Chest tube and scalpel, please, Jane,’ she said firmly.

  The sister handed them to her and quickly Hannah made an incision into the upper right-hand side of Ian Simpson’s chest, then carefully inserted a plastic tube directly into his chest cavity. With the tube hooked up to the suction line the excess air and blood was removed in seconds and the lung began to reinflate.

  ‘Well done,’ Jane murmured as Hannah let out the breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. ‘You’ll be wanting six units of O-negative blood, a chest X-ray and a CBC?’

  Hannah nodded. Type O blood could be given to any patient, buying them time until their blood samples had been tested. The X-ray would show whether she’d positioned the chest tube correctly, and the CBC—the complete blood count—would tell them just how much blood the patient had lost.

  ‘OK, folks, what have we got here?’

  Hannah spun round, startled, momentarily lost her balance and fell nose first against a broad, muscular chest. A broad, muscular chest which she was mortified to discover belonged to none other than Robert Cunningham.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ she began, whipping her hands quickly away from his chest. ‘I didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘So it would appear,’ he observed irritably. ‘Perhaps I should wear a bell round my neck in future if you’re as jumpy as this.’

  Jumpy? She wasn’t jumpy, but, then, neither had she expected to find herself noticing that, up close, the special registrar had eyes she was sure could smile if only he’d let them, and a mouth that looked just made for laughing if he’d only give it the chance.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?’ she asked, pulling her scattered wits together as she suddenly realised that Robert Cunningham had asked her something.

  ‘I asked what was wrong with your patient,’ he said tightly.

  ‘It’s a—a pneumothorax,’ she stammered, wondering why on earth she should start wondering what the special registrar would look like if he smiled, ‘but I’ve inserted a chest drain.’

  His black eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘You told me to go and do some doctoring so I have!’ she retorted without thinking, only to flush deeply as his eyebrows rose. ‘Dr Cunningham—’

  ‘Have you remembered to order six units of O-negative, a chest X-ray and a CBC?’

  Her chin came up at that. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then, assuming you’ve inserted the chest drain correctly—’

  Well, thanks a bundle for the vote of confidence, Hannah thought grimly.

  ‘And assuming he doesn’t have an unusual blood group, all you have to do now is to tell his family he’s survived your ministrations. Where are they?’

  ‘Th-they?’ she faltered, her heart catapulti
ng to the pit of her stomach as she realised the implication of his words.

  ‘You did remember to ask the paramedics if anyone came in with him, didn’t you?’ he asked, his eyebrows snapping down.

  The colour on her cheeks darkened to crimson. ‘I…We…Everything was happening so fast, you see, and I…I…’

  Her voice trailed away into mortified silence and Robert groaned inwardly. That was all he needed this morning. A new member of staff who not only looked as though she should be still at school but who was inefficient into the bargain.

  ‘And how, may I ask, do you propose to discover if your unfortunate patient was accompanied by anyone?’ he demanded, his voice ice-cold.

  ‘The paramedics—’

  ‘Will be long gone by now,’ he snapped. ‘Which means we’ll either have to go out into the waiting room and ask everyone there if they came in with a stabbing incident, or perhaps you favour the more direct approach—an announcement over the Tannoy?’

  Hannah’s cheeks reddened even more. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think—’

  ‘A fact that is all too blatantly obvious!’ he retorted, and Jane Halden cleared her throat awkwardly.

  ‘Robert, Hannah only arrived half an hour ago. Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?’

  Of course he was but, damn it, he didn’t have time to babysit anyone. He’d never had to babysit Laura when she’d been his junior. She’d always known what to do. She’d—

  ‘BP 60, neck veins swollen, no heart sounds!’ Floella suddenly yelled.

  Robert whirled back to the trolley. ‘The pericardium—the sac round his heart—must be filling with fluids.’

  ‘Will I page the chest surgeon?’ Jane asked, reaching for the phone only to see Robert shake his head.

  ‘This guy will be dead before the chest surgeon gets here.’

  ‘Then what are we going to do?’ Hannah asked, but Robert wasn’t even listening to her. He’d already snapped on a pair of latex gloves, grabbed a scalpel from the trolley and, without a second’s hesitation, made a wide incision across the young man’s chest, slicing through the muscles to the ribs below.