Page 30 of Just One Look

“Oh. Just … I don’t normally drink before five. Do people … Oh. I guess they do. Sure, I’ll come sit with you. Oh, and I’m Elizabeth.” After which she added, knowing it was too personal but compelled to say it, “I notice you’re not wearing a ring.”

Another odd look. “Can’t get the rings onto my fingers anymore, that’s all.”

“Sorry,” Elizabeth said. “I’m a doctor. I can’t help checking, it seems. How long ago did your fingers swell, or have they been swollen all along?” She stood back and took a look at the woman’s feet. Yes, her ankles were definitely puffy.

“Just the last few days,” the woman—Nyree—said. “Why? Is that bad? It’s normal, I thought. You’re not meant to be comfortable when you’re this pregnant, my mum says. Are you an OB, then?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “And, yes, Iwouldlike to join you,” she decided, since she could hardly stand with the poor woman forever and quiz her like an eager intern, hoping to diagnose something exciting. She’d suggest she call her own doctor, and meanwhile, she’d relate to her like a normal human. A normal, non-medical human with leisure time, who could chat about … the things normal humans did chat about, whatever those were. “And I’ll have a beer, too. Or a glass of wine. Why not? So it’s barely two. Why shouldn’t I?”

* * *

Luka had been right.He’d played only the last twenty-five minutes of the game, and had logged the other fifty-five doing his first minutes of the season on the bench.

There was frustration, and then there was watching your team fall behind and being unable to help. This was why he’d taken care to be fit enough to play every minute until last night. If you never gave the coach a reason to take you off, your fate was in your own hands, and that was the way he liked it.

He reckoned it had been the dog. His neck had been a bit rough, yeh, but it hadn’t really been bad until he’d tackled that dog.

Never mind. After you reviewed the films and went through what you could’ve done differently, you shook off the last game, win or lose, and focused on the next one, and that’s what he was doing. The last gameandthe dog tackle. To be exact, he was getting a massage and putting in a fairly unpleasant session with the physio, together with Marko, on Sunday afternoon. After that, at Marko’s suggestion, they headed down the road to the rackets club for a quick beer, because Marko was meeting his wife.

Luka hadn’t seen Nyree in a month. When they headed through the door of the bar and out onto the patio and he caught sight of her, she looked … well, she looked like what you’d imagine if a small woman were smuggling a full-sized watermelon under her shirt.

And it wasn’t just Nyree. It was Nyree plus, for some bizarre reason, Dr. Elizabeth, whose surname he still didn’t know. She was looking gobsmacked as Marko leaned down, kissed Nyree, frowned, and asked her, “All right? Your face looks a bit odd.”

“Swimming,” she said. “And not feeling the best. Could be I need to stop exercising, eh.” She sighed. “Words I love to hear, even if I said them myself.” She and Elizabeth both had damp hair and were wearing shorts and no makeup, but Elizabeth, for once, wasn’t gasping and beetroot-red. She was sitting still and doing her cool surgeon thing instead, like she was behind glass. That would be because she was uncomfortable.

How could he tell that? He just could.

He gave Nyree a kiss on the cheek and said, “Big day coming soon, eh. Hi, Elizabeth.” For the first time, he got to givehera kiss on the cheek. He hesitated, though, before he did it. It was that glass barrier. He asked, in fact, “OK to give you a kiss?”

“What?” she asked, looking completely startled.

“On the cheek,” he explained. “Not whatever you’re imagining.” He had to smile, though.

“Nah, boy,” Nyree said, “don’t ask her like that. Puts a girl off.”

“No,” Luka said. “I don’t think so.” He was still looking at Elizabeth.

She said, “Oh. Well, sure. I guess.” Which wasn’t exactly the most enthusiastic invitation he’d ever received.

He kissed her. Briefly. Gently. He didn’t offer a cuddle, just stood back and said, “OK?”

“OK,” she said, and smiled.

He’d never seen anything but the warrior queen, but her smile was a glorious thing, absolutely unaffected. That wide mouth, those bright blue eyes, those fierce, down-slanting eyebrows.

He said, “Let me guess. Nyree didn’t tell you who she was meeting.”

“No. Well, yes. She said her husband.” She glanced at Marko, who was doing his usual nearly-glowering, buccaneer-with-an-impressive-body-count-to-his-name impression. “I’m guessing that’s you. Hi. I’m Elizabeth Wolcott. And I’ve seen you before, with Luka. You helped with the dog, and I’m guessing you could be a rugby player, too. I think I saw you last night, in fact. Just the end of the game, though, so don’t ask me any hard questions about it.”

“Oh.” His expression cleared. “That was you. Yeh, Marko Sendoa here.”

“Also,” Luka said, “she was my surgeon.”

“You’re joking, mate,” Marko said.

“No. Not. She’s American, and she’s a neurosurgeon. She’s meant to be eminent.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” she informed him. “Stop saying it so dubiously, would you?”