Runaway Sister by Ann Jennings

on time, which usually meant someone’s head had to roll, and that someone was usually the Theatre Sister.
    Jennie gulped back her tea. “I’d better get going,” she said. “I’m on until nine tonight—see you tomorrow.”
    â€œGoodbye,” said Samantha, wishing Jennie weren’t leaving; she felt like talking to someone. The day had been so busy that she hadn’t had time to feel lonely, but now the evening was looming ahead and she began to get an empty feeling. She didn’t think Adam Shaw had seen her as she had her back to him, and she was therefore quite startled when suddenly he sat down beside her.
    â€œAre we still on speaking terms?” he asked seriously, but Samantha could see there was a self-assured twinkle in his eye.
    He obviously thinks he can be as rude as he likes, then turn on the charm and I’ll melt at the knees, she thought rebelliously. Well, Mr. Shaw, you can’t do that to me! So instead of responding to the twinkle in his eyes, she looked back at him with a cold stony expression in her clear blue eyes.
    â€œIt depends entirely on what you have to say,” she said in her unfriendliest tone of voice.
    â€œI suppose you think I ought to say sorry,” he began. “Very well, I’m sorry, I was rude this morning, I know, but I was under some strain at the time and that noise just made me explode.”
    â€œI gather you’ve been pretty explosive all day,” replied Samantha scathingly.
    He paused, the cup of tea halfway to his lips, his dark brows meeting in a frown. “How do you know that?” he demanded.
    Samantha couldn’t help laughing, he looked so surprised. “Really, Mr. Shaw, you said yourself that a hospital isn’t a very private place, everybody knows you’ve been in a foul mood today, and I must say I don’t think it’s fair of you to take it out on the other poor unfortunate people around you.”
    His firm sculptured lips twisted into a wry smile. “You’re unusually forthright,” he said quietly, “a quality I like.” His eyes slid in an appreciative gaze over her slender figure in its enhancing dark blue Sister’s uniform. “How long have you been a Sister?” he asked.
    His gaze made her nervous; she had never felt that her uniform was particularly sexy, but somehow the look in his eyes told her that it was.
    â€œA year and a half,” she replied. “Before that I was a staff midwife here on the Unit.”
    â€œHmm, so you’ve plenty of midwifery experience tucked under that shapely belt of yours,” he said reflectively.
    â€œYes, I have,” replied Samantha, standing up, wondering why on earth he was looking so pensive. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some administrative work to catch up on before I go off duty, unless of course another patient has decided to go into labor.” Taking her cup across to the dirty crockery trolley, she walked away from him, acutely conscious of his grey eyes following her.
    As she neared the door of the canteen she heard her name called and turned. It was Dai Thomas, a charming young Welshman and a friend of Steve.
    â€œHi, Samantha,” he called, “wait for me!” She waited and he caught up with her and put his arm around her slim waist. “Sorry about you and Steve,” he said in his lilting Welsh voice.
    â€œThanks,” said Samantha. “It’s just one of those things. Luckily we found out before we’d made the mistake of marrying.”
    â€œWhat are you doing tonight?” asked Dai, coming straight to the point. “Because I’ve got two tickets for a concert at the old Abbey. It’s a program of Bach and Mozart—would you like to come?”
    â€œWell, I…” Samantha hesitated. She liked Dai very much, but she knew she could never think of him in a romantic light, not in a million years. He just