The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum by Meredith Webber Page B

now those words.
    ‘You’re probably right,’ he admitted grudgingly, getting back to the conversation.
    ‘Only probably?’ she teased, then she turned the small computer screen so he could see it.
    ‘I can’t talk about your patient, but this little chap is doing well,’ she said. ‘His birth weight fell one hundred and seventy grams but we started feeding him through the orogastric tube on day two—was that only yesterday?—and I hope to have him on full feeds within a week. He’s still on the CPAP but we took him off that for an hour this morning and he coped well so we’ll gradually wean him off it.’
    She was nattering on to him as if he was just another colleague in her life. Which, of course, he was, but…
    His mind wanted to follow the ‘but’ but his instinct warned him not to go where it might lead. Instant attraction was dangerous enough—far too unstable to lead anywhere, in his opinion—but instant attraction to a pregnant woman—that was madness…
    ‘Is she doing well, your patient?’ the pregnant woman was asking, and he brought his mind firmly back to work.
    ‘Extraordinarily well,’ he had to admit. ‘Given that she’s just had major brain surgery, I actually can’t believe how much progress she’s made.’
    He’d thought his colleague might take advantage of that admission with a smug grin at the very least, but all she did was offer a whole-hearted smile, and a quiet ‘I am so glad it’s working out for her’.
    Some undercurrent in the words made him look at her more closely and he was sure he detected shadows in her lovely eyes.
    Shadows of sadness—though how could that be? And why would he think sadness?
    Then, on the faintest of sighs, she explained.
    ‘I have a friend in a coma,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s a terrible place to be.’
    He wanted to touch her, just a touch of comfort—on her shoulder, or perhaps her arm—but she moved away, clicking off the computer screen, tidying the trolley that held the baby’s needs in the corner of the room, although it had looked perfectly tidy when he’d glanced at it earlier.
    There’d been something deeply personal in her admission and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been speaking of the father of her baby.
    But in that case, surely she’d be giving the baby more reassuring touches, not fewer…
    He had to get his head straight. He had to stop thinking about the woman, yet how could he when she was here every time he visited his patient?
    Every time?
    He thought back.
    ‘Have you been getting any rest?’ he asked her. ‘Are you actually trusting other staff to take care of the baby?’
    She looked up from the trolley in the corner and smiled at him.
    ‘Of course I trust the staff and, yes, I’m getting plenty of rest. My body clock is still a bit wonky with the travel, so I come and go at odd hours, and if I’m here I give the nurse on duty a break.’
    She made it sound so— normal , somehow, yet he knew it wasn’t. For one thing, the nearest on-call room was way down the other end of the long corridor.
    She must have read his thoughts because she smiled and said, ‘And all the walking is the best possible exercise for me.’
    He wanted to argue, to tell her she should be living in the palace, but he had no reasons to back up his argument, not one—none!
    Yet he wanted her there—he wanted her to see his home, to walk through his gardens, to relax in a hammock beneath the shade of a peach tree…
    Though perhaps a klutz in a hammock…and pregnant at that?
    On a couch under a peach tree.
    ‘I’ve seen the area for the new unit.’ The shift in conversation startled him. ‘And I’ve drawn up a list of equipment and passed it on to the manager of the children’s section of the hospital. Laya tells me the nursery comes under his control so I assumed the new unit would as well. No doubt he’ll run the purchases past whoever has to okay them. I’m sure you don’t have to be bothered with minor