‘I’ve always heard that expression.’ She gave him a quizzical look. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a few strange ones too.’
‘We sure do. The south is famous for them. Of course they’ve got to be said with the right accent or they sound dumb.’
‘And they don’t sound dumb with it?’
Hunter wagged his finger. ‘Did no one tell you you’re supposed to be polite to guests and not mock the way they talk?’ Two pink circles blossomed on her cheeks. ‘I’m jokin’’ He took a sip of the insipid, coffee-flavoured liquid and almost spat it out. ‘I’m not a baby. Go to work. Polly won’t hear it from me.’
‘She’ll find out.’ Laura grumbled. ‘For a sweet person she’s incredibly cunning.’ Her face darkened. ‘She’ll find out about you and Johnny too. Whatever the pair of you are hiding, she’ll worm the truth from him.’
Hunter pulled out his phone. ‘What’s Polly’s number?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m gonna call her.’
‘You can’t!’
‘Watch me.’
‘You are one stubborn man.’
Slathering on his southern charm with a trowel he spun a touching story of how desperate the hospital was for Laura’s skills until he had Polly eating out of his hand. ‘Grovel.’ Hunter whispered and passed over the phone.
After a quick chat she handed it back. ‘I’ve promised I’ll be through working by Saturday lunchtime.’
‘Fair enough.’
Laura swallowed a mouthful of coffee, winced and threw the rest down the sink. ‘That’s vile.’ Before he could stop her she snatched his mug and treated it the same way. ‘You didn’t fly four thousand miles to be poisoned by cheap, supermarket coffee.’
‘Off you go and do your Florence Nightingale bit. Did I mention I’ve got a thing about nurses?’
‘For heaven’s sake.’ She shook her head. ‘The days of starched white aprons and black stockings are long gone.’
‘Yeah I know. Pity.’ Hunter exhaled an exaggerated sigh. ‘You’re gonna kill me, Nurse Williams.’
‘Senior Charge Nurse if you don’t mind, Mr McQueen.’
Laura’s wobbly voice threw up another set of red warning flags. ‘Off with you.’
‘Thanks,’ she whispered. ‘You’re a . . .’
‘A what?’
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
There were several ways he’d prefer she finished the sentence, but Laura hurried out of the kitchen and left it to his imagination.
Chapter Eight
‘There you go, strong and black like me.’ Henry flashed his toothy grin around the staff room door and held out a steaming paper cup.
Laura’s weary laughter deepened his smile. ‘Why are you so bloody cheerful? I doubt you slept more than four hours in the last twenty-four and today won’t be much better.’
He set the cup on the table, dropped to one knee and grabbed her right hand. ‘When are you going to put me out of my misery and marry me?’
They enacted this ritual at six-monthly intervals and if she ever said yes Henry would die of a heart attack on the spot. For ten years they’d worked together and were closer than many real-life couples but without the complication of loving each other ‘that’ way. He understood that her uncharacteristic flare of anger on the phone earlier arose from frustration. Like him she saw the A&E department as her second family and carried an overwhelming loyalty towards their patients.
‘Being Polly’s bridesmaid next week is the closest I plan on getting to an altar again.’ He understood her reasons more than anyone else. In the rare quiet patches when they both worked night shifts she’d confided things to him that she’d never shared with her sister. Henry tried to warn her off Mike when she first started dating the handsome surgeon but kept his counsel once they got engaged. Later on he spent hours listening patiently as she described her husband’s increasingly domineering behaviour, followed by Mike’s complete about-turn when he lost all interest in her and began a string of blatant affairs.
