The Wrong Sister(18)

“Get back, Fee!” Christian yelled as part of the main support beam gave way and crashed down. She leapt sideways, tripped on some of the debris, felt a huge surge of pain, and blacked out. She never knew how feverishly he worked to clear the heaviest pieces away from her crumpled body, or how tenderly he covered her with a blanket and watched over her until the paramedics arrived.





She regained proper consciousness the next evening. Christian sat close by her hospital bed, staring blankly ahead, but his gaze ricocheted across as she uttered a soft moan of complaint.

There were flowers everywhere, and her whole body ached like fury.

He instantly pressed the Call button and reached for her hand. His over-firm grip was far from steady. His fingers shook as he laced them through hers.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said in a hoarse and weary voice, eyes so intense and hopeful she’d have sprung from the bed undamaged, had it been possible. “Hell that was stupid thing to do, Fee. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

So much for a tender welcome back to the land of the living…

She moved her other arm and gasped with pain, but knowing he’d kept watch sent a wash of warmth through her and almost made up for his rough words. How long had he been there?

A nurse bustled through the door a moment later and Fiona tried to lift her head before subsiding back into the pillows with a groan. Christian rose from the chair, wincing as he stretched from the vigil at her bedside.

“Long wait?” Fiona murmured.

He shook his head as though the answer didn’t matter. “I’ll call Greg and Rebecca back,” he said, digging his mobile from a pocket. He stood looking down at her, dark face unreadable, while the nurse fussed and checked. Then he disappeared into the corridor and she heard jubilation in his voice as he made the call.

He returned, sat again, and retrieved her hand. Slowly he recounted the whole story until she had it straight in her slightly addled brain. She was severely bruised, somewhat concussed, but against all odds unbroken.

She decided woozily that he must have employed magic to get her parents there so fast—Auckland was almost a day’s drive from Wellington. But twenty hours had slid by, and they’d flown down early that morning and only recently left the hospital to find dinner. Fifteen minutes later, she heard the rapid tattoo of her mother’s heels. Her parents burst in, tired, concerned, and thankful.

“Oh my darling girl,” Rebecca faltered, bending over to caress her brow and kiss her cheek. “The thought of losing both my daughters...”

She left the words hanging and turned aside to hide tears of relief.

“Awful scare. Awful,” Greg Delaporte said in a gruff voice, reaching out to clasp a cautious hand over hers.

After a few moments, her mother checked the chart at the end of her bed, drew a deep breath and nodded. Fiona imagined she’d done it dozens of times already

“I’m sure they’re looking after you as well as possible,” Rebecca said. “But there’s one thing hospitals provide that’ll do you no good at all—these awful gowns.” She gave the sleeve of Fiona’s a disparaging twitch. “I brought a couple of my old button-through nightdresses with me. Nice and soft, and just as accessible for the staff if they want to change your dressings.” She bent to retrieve one from the bedside locker and shook out its folds.

Fiona managed a half-hearted smile. Trust her practical mother to think of something like that!

“Thanks Mom. These lumpy back fastenings are horrible to lie on—yours’ll be great to have.”

“And how are feeling, really?”

“Lucky to be alive I suppose. It could have been worse.”

“Much worse,” her father agreed.

“I’ve spoiled your dinner.”

“I’d choose a daughter over a dinner any day,” he said.

She tried to push herself up a little on the pillows.

“Ow…” she growled.

Christian’s sleepy eyes snapped alert.

“Stop trying to move,” he insisted. “One thing’s for sure—you’re in no shape to travel. You won’t be going back with Greg and Rebecca. You need to stay in Wellington for a while yet.”

“You need to stay in hospital for a while yet,” her father corrected.

Being the daughter of two doctors assured her of A-grade treatment anyway. But really, there was nothing much anyone could do—she needed rest, but little else.

However keen her parents were that she returned to Auckland with them, Christian was equally persuasive about her remaining with him so he could look after her.

“I’m off work for a while yet to care for Nicola,” he insisted. “Amy Houndsworth is coming in daily to clean and to cook the evening meal. There’s no point in taking either of you two away from important jobs.” He raised his voice as her father started to object. “I’ll make sure Fiona eats and has her check-ups. It’ll save her traveling while she’s so sore. What more will she need?”