Five hours, three scraped knees, two slices of chocolate cake, one enormous birthday dinner and a lost cricket game later, Patrick Turner lay stretched out on the sofa, nearly content and quite happy not to move for the rest of the evening. Only one thing - or person rather - was missing, and he craned his neck now to look for her.

"Shelagh?"

"Hmm?" Her answer came from the direction of the kitchen.

"Come sit with me?"

"In a moment, Patrick. I've just got to finish with dishes."

Well, there was only one thing for that. He would have to find other ways of coaxing her to his side. He stood and stretched, his muscles a little stiff and sore from the cricket game that afternoon, but nothing too terrible. Still, he might able to use that to play on her sympathies.

He made his way to the kitchen, making sure to walk slowly and grimace a bit. Shelagh continued talking about the day as she scrubbed the last of the pots and pans.

"You should have seen Angela when I was trying to finish your cake this morning. It was all I could do to keep her from reaching for the icing bowl." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "She may be spending too much time with Sister Monica Joan."

Patrick chuckled. "Just wait until she starts walking, sweetheart. We'll have a little cake thief on our hands." He took care to wince as he reached up into the cupboard for a tea cup. His grimace did not go unnoticed.

"Patrick, are you all right?"

"Fine, Shelagh. Just a little sore." He made a show of rubbing his neck, which in his defense, did feel a little stiff.

He could practically see the nurse in her resurface and take over; Shelagh's lips pursed in worry as her eyes scanned his body for any evidence of pain or illness. "Well, it's no wonder, spending all afternoon playing cricket with ten-year-olds and then lying down on that couch." She dried her hands on a dishcloth. "Go lie down on the bed. I'll be there in a moment."

Patrick grinned secretly to himself as he went down the hall to their bedroom. His plan was working out perfectly.

He undressed and pulled on his pajama bottoms and dressing gown, careful not to disturb Angela sleeping on her cot in the corner. He didn't want the good mood of the evening spoiled because he woke the baby.

Despite the stiffness in his back, he felt infinitely better than he had this morning, younger even. Perhaps he should "take a holiday" more often, he thought - whisk Shelagh off for a late lunch and an afternoon out, or take Angela to the park to watch the ducks or simply take a few hours for himself to read the paper and browse through the various nautical oddities in Mr. Hale's shop.

But even as he made plans in his head, he knew it was impossible. Next Saturday would come, and he would have to work again, probably even longer to catch up on the paperwork he missed today. There were never enough hours, he thought, stretching out on the bed to wait for his wife.

Shelagh came in moments later, a jar of liniment in her hand. "Robe and vest, off, if you please," she said primly.

Patrick shucked off his top, trying not to seem too eager, and sat on the edge of the bed. Shelagh slipped off her house slippers and sat behind him, her feet tucked under her.

"I don't think I've ever heard Tim talk so much about a game of cricket," Shelagh said, her fingers kneading. "I think it might have made his week, you joining in and playing with him."

"I don't get to do that enough." He sighed. "I"m sorry we ruined your surprise, Shelagh, after you went through all that effort. If you'd just told me-"

"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise, Patrick!" She moved her hands further up his back, working at his shoulders, where he kept all his worry. "I guessed that holiday would be one the last things you'd give yourself. I was little a frustrated when I arrived at the surgery and couldn't find you. But I have no doubt Fred enjoyed your birthday lunch," she added, chuckling.

"I just wanted you to have a good birthday," she continued. "Did you?"

He reached back, took the slim hand that rested on his right shoulder and brought it to his lips. "My best. Thank you, my love."

Shelagh continued her ministrations, and Patrick made no protests, though he was no longer sore.

"Feeling any better?" she asked, her voice behind him soft, and a little breathless

"Much." He groaned as her fingers crept up his neck, reaching a sensitive spot behind his ear. "I'll have extra paperwork to finish on Monday."

"No you won't," she said firmly. "I'll do it. Consider it part of your birthday present."

He grinned roguishly. "I'd rather thought that wasn't all I was getting."

"Greedy man," she teased. "What else could you possibly want?"

He turned in her arms ."The same thing I got last year," he said, his voice rough with longing, "You."

She looked at him in a way that made his heart clench and leaned into his embrace. "You already have me, Patrick. But Happy Birthday anyway."