Saved by Their One-Night Baby Page 6

  He pushed forward to the boat landing but was held back by Akil. ‘No, Ethan, this is your first time. Just watch and wait for us to pass you the children. We need you on the ship, not in the water.’

  One of the kids was strapped into a life jacket then picked up and hauled over sloshing angry water into the hands of an aid worker, then another and another until Ethan was handed the shivering, soaking boy who looked about six years old. His rich ochre skin was ice cold and his huge brown eyes screamed of panic but he didn’t utter a sound.

  In contrast, the next bundle passed along was a wriggling, screaming little girl who was handed over to Claire.

  ‘Hey, buddy, you’re safe now.’ Ethan wrapped the boy in a space blanket and tried to soothe him, his words translated through a Libyan translator called Fatima. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe. Where’s Mum? Dad?’

  Having done this for years he knew how children were often either insatiably clingy to whatever surviving parent they had, or were so inured to loss and separation it made his heart twist. No child should ever have to go through this, but if they did he wanted to make things better for them. Always.

  The boy pointed a trembling hand to a woman who was being helped onto the ship and Ethan breathed out. ‘Mama?’

  The boy nodded. One less trauma for him if he had a parent alive and walking. ‘Great. Let’s get you all through to the clinic room.’

  The girl’s screams punched the air, rough and raw despite the translator’s and Claire’s best efforts to reassure her. The mother was wrapped in a thick blanket and brought with them. No possessions came up from the sinking boat, not a toy or a single bag with documents or spare clothes. Nothing that was theirs. They had nothing except each other.

  Better make damned sure they’re going to be okay, then.

  He sat the boy on an examination couch and made a quick assessment. Hypothermia. No doubt a degree of starvation and dehydration; his ribs were visible and his wrists were impossibly thin. His heart was pumping a little too slowly for Ethan’s liking; one of the sure signs of a too-cold body. A quick history from the mum—over her daughter’s incessant screams—told of no immunisations so they were at risk of common childhood diseases too. The boy was called Hassan, the girl Aya.

  ‘Can you explain we need to get the wet clothes off, then go grab them all some fresh things from the clothing cupboard next door? Mum can get changed there too, it’s more private,’ Ethan said to the translator. ‘I’ll give Hassan a hand. Then I’ll take a temperature reading and we’ll need to get some fluids into them all pretty quickly.’

  Fatima explained everything to the little mite, who just stared up at Ethan blankly with those enormous dark eyes. Ethan tried a smile and helped the boy tug the life jacket off, followed by a soaking thin cotton top from his shivering body. Hassan was compliant and almost sleepy, so Ethan rubbed his little arms and legs to get his blood flowing. He was immediately thrown back to an icy dark space where Chase had done the same for him.

  He battled the memories away. Time enough for that in his dreams, he didn’t need them interfering with his work too. He winked at the kid. ‘Come on, mate, we need to get you warm.’

  ‘L’était une petite poule grise...’ Claire sang softly as she rocked little Aya, swaddling her first in a space blanket then a thick wool cover.

  A loose lock of hair swung forward to frame Claire’s face as she softly sang the words of what appeared to be a lullaby that his schoolboy French wasn’t up to translating. He remembered the way her hair had slid through his fingers, the lemony scent of the strands, and he felt a hot jolt of lust skim across his skin, arrowing to his groin.

  Eventually she came to the end of the song and stopped rocking and her gaze caught his across the room. For the briefest moment something passed between them—a look that slowly heated from friends to over-the-line hot. A flash of need.

  He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was and whether her mind had gone back to the lift and the sensual kisses, the press of bodies in the shadows and the soft moans in the air. Or whether she was thinking about that line she’d talked about and if it would give under a little strain.

  Looking at her now, he was sorely tempted to rub the damned line out completely, find somewhere private—if such a place existed here—and kiss her again.

  Hassan tugged on Ethan’s hand, making him remember just what he was supposed to be doing. Tearing his gaze from Claire, he helped the boy into the dry clothes Fatima had brought in, then took his temperature. Too low. ‘We need to warm this lad up from the inside too. Hey, buddy, do you want a drink of hot chocolate? That’ll warm your tummy.’

  The mum came back wearing fresh clothes and stood close, speaking in a language that occasionally sounded familiar, although he didn’t understand most of what she was saying. It was the language of refugees: Thank you... My babies...help my babies. Food, please. I want to live.

  Geez, he knew how that desperate panic bloomed raw and hot in the centre of your chest and how easily it spread through every cell. How easy it was to give in to it instead of using it to fuel your actions. How you clung to anything, any hope, anyone.

  You’d better be worth it, Reid.

  He damned well hoped he was.

  Then he wondered if being on a ship with Chase and Claire was sending him quietly mad, because nothing else could explain how easily his mind slipped from the present to the past and then further back into ancient history where the roots of his nightmares had been sown.

  Fatima pressed a cup of warm chocolate to the boy’s lips. Ethan watched the shock and surprise, and their first smile of the day was won. Chocolate; the friendliest language on the planet.

  ‘Some for Aya too?’ Claire asked in a measured soft voice, holding her spare hand out for the cup Fatima was passing her. Claire was the calm they needed, but he liked to hope his efficiency and attention to detail saved lives as much as hope. In essence it was teamwork.

  As the little girl gulped down the warm drink, he prioritised. ‘We need to know how long they were out there and what they managed to eat or drink. Past medical issues and brief history—anything we need to be aware of until we can get them to safety. And she needs to get out of those wet clothes.’

  Claire nodded. ‘I’m just holding her a minute longer so she knows she’s safe.’

  ‘She needs warm, dry clothes.’

  ‘I know that.’ Claire shot him a confused look. ‘She’s starting to settle and she’s slowly warming up. When she’s calmed down enough I’ll get her into dry clothes and then we might be able to do a thorough assessment. We won’t be able to do anything with her screaming her head off.’

  They were working from two sides of the same plan and that was okay. Claire’s body heat would warm the little girl and she could do some quick core assessments just by observing her. Ethan was more act first then explain, knowing from experience how the cold and wet bit into your bones and how quickly you wanted it to stop.

  ‘Okay. Once they’re fed and calm we’ll have a longer chat with them about their medical needs. When the families come to the camps we usually leave them a day or so to settle in then we do the best we can to get them immunised at the very least, fed as well as possible. Sometimes they’ve been for weeks with little food, particularly the parents.’

  Claire’s face fell. ‘How bad must things be to need to risk your life and that of your children like this?’

  Having seen it over and over in various camps across Africa, he knew exactly how bad life could be. ‘Many are fleeing torture or war, some are escaping human trafficking. Sometimes the risk of leaving is worth much more than staying. It’s not our place to judge, we just have to help them rebuild something better than what they left behind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of judging. I’m here to help them.’

  Claire was holding a snotty-nosed child dressed in rags, her hair
had been whipped in all directions, her cheeks red from windburn. She had jeans with holes in the knees and a regulation baggy T-shirt and he couldn’t help smiling at her, because if he was ever asked to describe what beautiful was he would remember this moment. ‘Not quite the luxury cruise I had you pegged for.’

  ‘I think, Ethan, you had me pegged all wrong. Funny how we make assumptions.’ She smiled back and there was a tease that reminded him of last night. ‘I like to be proved wrong, though.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her eyes sparkled. ‘I’m glad you’re not a racing driver.’

  And for the first time since he’d left Africa he was ridiculously pleased to be on this ship, with her.

  But then Akil appeared at the door with two grubby children on one side and two on the other. ‘Four more for you, Doc. And another couple just coming off the raft now.’

  ‘Okay. Good. Right. Yes.’ Claire’s eyes grew wide and she took a deep breath. As an old hand at this kind of thing Ethan knew how that kick of anticipation felt, how the adrenaline surged and got you through. Although it was a whole lot different on a boat. And with that, the adventure was turning serious and all thought of anything but saving lives fled Ethan’s brain.

  * * *

  It was impossible to sleep in the dark cabin. Shadows flared on dull white bulkheads that crowded in closer and closer. The rhythmic crash of waves against the hull and the constant hum of the ship’s engines should have lulled him, but they made his gut churn instead. And Akil’s snoring was bordering on cataclysmic.

  No matter how much Ethan tried to still his mind, it kept tumbling over the day’s events. He couldn’t get rid of the image of hope shining in Claire’s eyes as she’d soothed the little girl and the way his harping at her to get Aya into dry clothes had made her second-guess herself. It wasn’t his job to make her question her efforts; as a team member he was supposed to boost her.

  The walls pressed closer and he tried to focus on counting his breaths but Claire’s face floated to the forefront of his mind. Again.

  No point in thinking about her. Or what her words had meant; that she was glad he was there and how much that had made him smile for the rest of the day.

  The elevator sex had been amazing.

  He’d had enough one-night stands to be able to handle the aftermath well. But he was on full alert whenever she was around, and wondering where she was when she wasn’t in his direct line of vision. Not just because he wanted to see her but because he needed to know she was safe and well and...hell, this wasn’t working, on so many levels.

  He sighed, tugged the pillow out from under him and wrapped it over his ears. But the restlessness wasn’t outside. It was deep inside him, making his mind whirr and his legs twitch. Sleep wasn’t going to come. Again.

  He threw the covers back and stole quietly out of the cabin, hoping a walk round the boat in the fresh air might make him tired enough to sleep.

  As if. But, hell, it was worth a try.

  Once on deck he held onto the rail and filled his lungs with huge gulps of salty air as he looked across the water. There was nothing out there but a thick blackness that was almost tangible. A million stars slicked across the sky. Murmured stirs and a harmony of snores floated to him from the area where the rescued men were sleeping. Otherwise there was no sound apart from the swoosh of the water against the hull.

  It was almost peaceful but for the lurch in his gut. A couple more days and he’d have that under control, which was probably more than he could say about his interest in Claire.

  Five weeks and six days. He closed his eyes and imagined lying perfectly still under canvas, arms behind his head, the dry heat of the day warming his skin...

  ‘Hey.’ It was Claire, rocking back and forth with a sleeping Aya on her shoulder. ‘You awake too?’

  He was surprised at how much his heart kicked up at the sight of the woman he’d only met again yesterday. She looked tranquil and relaxed as she lulled the little girl and something fisted tight in his heart. He breathed it away. Tried to. The problem with Claire was that she had him imagining all sorts of out-of-reach things, like what it would be like to wake up with her and way...way down the line, what it would be like to wake up with her every day.

  He breathed out and focused on here and now instead of fairy-tale land. ‘I never sleep well the first night in a new place. I guess it must be all the new sounds and smells and the lumpy beds, but I always crash from exhaustion the second night, so I’m just holding out until then. How’s the seasickness?’

  She grimaced as she gently patted the little girl’s back. ‘Just about bearable. You?’

  ‘I’m told it’s better if you can see the horizon and I was hoping some fresh air and a walk would help too.’

  ‘Lovely.’ She smiled her entrancing smile. ‘Where shall we go? Up the Champs-Élysées? Hollywood Boulevard? What about Oxford Circus?’

  ‘We’re in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. But I was actually in Darfur.’ He’d been around her for less than twenty-four hours and her quirks were clearly starting to rub off on him. If you didn’t like your current circumstances then you pretended you were someone else and somewhere else, and hoped life would become more bearable.

  Her eyes grew wider. ‘Darfur? Tell me about it. What’s it like?’

  Hell on earth some days, but he’d been trying not to think about that. ‘It’s dry and dusty and flat, and in the early morning it’s so peaceful and still you can almost imagine that there is nothing bad in the world. A new day, a fresh start and just as the sun begins to rise you can see the red earth stretching out before you. Then the sounds start: babies crying, a call to prayer, mothers begging for food, the expected tensions of overcrowded communal living spilling into fights and, in the middle of it all like some kind of miracle, there are children playing.’ He thought about Hassan and the mute shock that had enveloped the boy. ‘The kids are the most amazing. No matter what they’ve been through or seen, their smiles are enough to put your whole day straight.’

  ‘Wow. You clearly love it.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, there’s unimaginable poverty and grief there but you have to believe each day is going to give you something positive or else you can’t survive it.’

  ‘So you think of a place like that to help you get over being here?’ Claire shook her head. ‘You must hate boats as much as lifts.’

  ‘About the same. It’s not the vessel as such, it’s the cramped space. The wet and cold.’ He wasn’t going there. ‘Do you often make things up? Last night you were all about being an escaped prisoner.’

  ‘When reality’s looking crappy then, yes, why not? I used to do it with my little brothers and sisters when they had nightmares or were upset.’

  ‘You have a close family?’

  ‘You bet.’ She smiled. ‘Too close at times. Two sisters and two brothers. Always noisy, always chaos, no privacy. They’re all still living in the same village we grew up in...some still at school, one left to go to university and then came back. When I ran away to sea I wasn’t just escaping my ex, I was escaping my crazy family too. My youngest sibling is four years old and I’m the oldest, so when Mum wasn’t available for something they always turned to me.’

  ‘Wow, how old are you if your sister is that young?’

  ‘Twenty-six. Élisabeth was one of those little change-of-life mistakes and a complete shock for my parents. We all love her completely, though. Then there’s Eric, who is ten, Camille, sixteen, Marcus twenty-two. And me; sister, second mum, babysitter and entertainment all rolled into one. It’s lovely on a good day, but pretty claustrophobic, to be honest.’ She was still rocking gently, her feet anchored wide to keep herself steady on the moving ship. He imagined she’d done that soothing motion a thousand times before; it sat well on her, easy and calm. And briefly he had an image of her and him and... He shook his head. Goddam
n, now he was starting to fantasise about happy families, which was ironic given he hadn’t any experience of one.

  He wondered how it would feel to live in a messy life like hers instead of in the sterile one he’d grown up in—no noise, no chaos, just his parents locked away in their study discovering important things for their important university jobs... And in the process ignoring their, oh, so unimportant son and leaving him to get on with things on his own. ‘So that’s why you can make things up so easily, it’s a defence mechanism. Escape of the mind if not the body.’

  ‘Probably. When the younger ones were being stroppy I needed to be able to create some peace and quiet in the middle of anarchy. So why not do it now too, even though we’re adults? This ship is churning like a roller-coaster and I’m not getting used to it fast enough. I don’t like the way it’s making me feel, so why not pretend I’m somewhere else?’

  ‘Like in a lift?’ The words shot out before he could stop them.

  ‘Ethan. We agreed.’ She fired a warning look at him, but not before he saw the memory cloud her eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken she still wanted him as much as she had last night and the feeling was very definitely mutual.

  Heat flared through him and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and slide his mouth over hers again. ‘I was trying to distract you. It worked on me well enough last night. It happened, Claire, we can’t pretend it didn’t.’

  ‘But we don’t have to keep talking about it.’ She was right, there wasn’t anywhere they could take it, especially on a ship with little privacy. But he’d had enough trouble trying to get to sleep tonight knowing she was only a few doors away. Knowing what she tasted like and aching to taste her again and again.

  ‘If we were somewhere else...’ He swallowed hard and tried to erase the memory.

  And then what? He’d had plenty of flings, but had never had the compulsion to get to know any of the women better. But, then, they’d all been on the same page as him: sex was for fun, a release, a game. Something you walked away from with a smile on your face. It wasn’t about getting to know someone better or falling hard.