The Wrong Sister by Kris Pearson Page B

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?”
    Not much, it seemed. But as she lay uncomfortably in the hospital bed her thoughts returned again and again to the prospect of being cared for by the man she needed to stay away from. How would she manage? She could barely move yet. He’d be uncomfortably close. Temptingly close.  
    Although she knew what mustn’t happen between them, it was tempered by warm and guilty thankfulness she didn’t