Rescued by the Single Dad Doc

by Marion Lennox

  At last it was over. Col was being wheeled off to the ward next to the nurses’ station. He’d be watched like a hawk all night, surrounded...by his own?

  That was what it felt like, Rachel thought. These people...this community... It was almost family.

  Left to herself, she headed into the scrub room, stripped off her gown and tossed it into the bin. And as she did she was aware of a sense of desolation.

  A feeling she’d had often. A feeling of being on the outside looking in.

  ‘Well done.’ Tom had stayed behind in Theatre to write up orders. He entered the scrub room now and started stripping off himself. ‘You’re a real pro, Dr Tilding.’

  ‘Not bad yourself, Dr Lavery. You really are an orthopod.’

  ‘That’s a past life,’ he told her curtly and the way he propelled his gown into the bin had a bit more force than necessary. ‘I’ll operate in emergencies but not from choice. I’m now a family doctor.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Rid of their theatre gear, they walked outside together. Rose had offered to stay and sleep with the boys for the night, but Tom would want to get home, Rachel thought. She wanted to get home. The image of community—family—was weirdly unsettling. She needed to be in her own cottage, with the door firmly shut, with the world safely at bay.

  What was unsettling her wasn’t just about medicine, she thought. In fact it was hardly about medicine at all. It was Tom greeting her on the beach, sitting beside her, telling her how his life had changed. Exposing his past. It was Tom seeing her scars and knowing immediately what had caused them. There’d be questions in his mind that she wasn’t prepared to answer, but he hadn’t pushed and somehow that consideration had pushed her even further out of her comfort zone.

  For it was Tom himself who disturbed her. Tom, who’d given up his life in Sydney, his career as a surgeon, everything he most valued, to bring three kids somewhere they could be safe.

  It was Tom of the crinkly dark eyes, with the smile that reached...something that hadn’t been touched for a very long time.

  Had it ever been touched?

  They were out on the veranda now. It was a five-minute walk down to the cottages but Moby Dick was in the car park. ‘Well done us,’ Tom said softly into the stillness of the night. ‘Thank you, Rachel. You did great. You want a ride home?’

  ‘You did great yourself, and I can walk.’

  ‘Then beware drop bears.’

  Drop bears. The imaginary animal used by Aussies to tease tourists, by mums and dads to make kids go ‘ooh’ and cling tight as they walked under tall trees. She managed a smile. Drop bears weren’t real.

  But this night didn’t feel real. For some reason Tom had her so... What was the word for it? She didn’t have a clue. And she had no idea why she was feeling...what she was feeling.

  ‘I hear the antigowobblers are bad at this time of year too,’ she managed.

  ‘The jabberwockies are pretty scary as well,’ he responded promptly. ‘I haven’t seen one for a while, but you can’t be too careful.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll walk anyway.’

  ‘Rachel, I won’t hurt you.’

  Why had he said that? She stilled while the ramifications of his words hit home.

  ‘Why...why would I think you’d hurt me?’

  ‘Because people have hurt you in the past. And it’s still with you.’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ she managed.

  ‘But scars like that...’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘There’s no need to talk about it. Just know that I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘Th...thank you.’

  ‘You were awesome tonight,’ he said softly now, as if he knew that he’d scared her. ‘You being here... The fact that we operated so fast... It may well make the difference as to whether Col walks again.’

  ‘He should.’

  ‘Thanks to both of us. We’re a team.’

  A team. She and Tom.

  The concept was purely medical, she thought, but the way she felt... It was so much more.

  But she said nothing.

  Silence.

  She should walk away, but her feet didn’t seem to want to.

  Nothing about her wanted to.

  This was the back entrance to the hospital, dimly lit. The main entrance was on the town side. This veranda overlooked the ocean. Below them, they could see the shape of their cottages in the moonlight, with the lights on in Tom’s living room. They could see the ribbons of moonlight beyond, rippling over the surface of the sea.

  The silence seemed to be growing. There was nothing but the sound of the surf on the beach below.

  There was nothing but each other.

  A man and a woman.

  And, looking at his face, she suddenly saw a side of Tom she’d never seen before. He was gazing down at the lights of his cottage and for a fleeting moment she saw something akin to panic. It was gone in an instant but she knew she’d seen it—and she knew what it was.

  Behind him, in the hospital, was a small boy who was his responsibility, and waiting for him at home were two more.

  As well as that, the hospital was full of the same responsibilities. Rachel was under no illusions as to why Tom’s grandfather had set up her scholarship. It was to force doctors to come here. This place was so remote, so far from any services, so far from the friends, the life Tom knew...

  And yet he’d taken it on and would continue to look after them all. Until the boys were grown, his promise to his friend was unbreakable.

  The look was gone now, hidden under the veneer of strength and commitment. He’d head back to his cottage, say goodnight to Rose, check on the children, go to bed.

  But the memory of that look stayed with her, somehow searing itself into her mind.

  He was trapped.

  And, almost unbidden, before she even knew what she intended, she reached out and touched Tom’s face. A feather touch. A touch of comfort? A touch to say she understood that look?

  How could she have understood it—and what on earth possessed her to make her reach out? She’d never done such a thing. But she didn’t pull back. Amazingly, the touch felt right.

  She was a woman with boundaries, a woman who knew to keep herself to herself, and this was a man who seemingly had no boundaries. A man who collected strays and changed his life because of them. Who accepted that he was trapped for ever—because of a simple promise to a friend.

  Was it wonder that made her reach out—as if touching a being from another world?

  But it wasn’t strangeness she was feeling. It was Tom’s face. A face of strength. Of endurance.

  Her fingers traced his cheekbones, feeling the stubble from a long day without a razor. Feeling his warmth. His familiarity? For it was as if she knew him. It was as if something inside her was responding to something she didn’t understand. Something that maybe should have frightened her, and yet somehow didn’t.

  His hand raised and caught her fingers. And held. The fear should have been there—but wasn’t.

  ‘You did amazingly tonight,’ Tom told her, and his voice was somehow an extension of the silence of the night. ‘We both did well. Well done us.’

  Medicine, she thought, and she knew why he’d brought it back to that. They both needed to focus on work. It was what they did.

  And then his hand tugged a little, pulling her body closer.

  And with that came panic.

  What was she doing here? Why had she touched? She never touched. She was suddenly hauling her hand back as if it burned, and he let her go instantly.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said and she was stammering. ‘Please. I should never... I’d never...’ She was fighting to make her voice sound practical, acerbic, moving on. She’d watched love affairs spring up almost unbidden in the
hothouse of medical workplaces, and when had any good come of them? And for her? It’d be a disaster.

  ‘What are you frightened of?’ His voice was gentle. He was watching her, quietly questioning. There was no pressure. She could turn and leave.

  She should turn and leave, but it was she who’d instigated the contact. He deserved some explanation.

  ‘I don’t think... It’s not me who’s frightened,’ she told him, struggling to make sense of what had happened. ‘I just thought... For a moment it looked like you were afraid.’

  ‘What would I be afraid of?’

  ‘Of loving,’ she said simply. ‘Of being stuck with the boys because you think you love them.’

  ‘I do love them.’

  ‘But you’re afraid of being trapped.’

  ‘Well, the time for that’s long over,’ he told her, but he was watching her face and she had the sensation that he wasn’t focused on the boys. He was focused solely on her. ‘I’m committed and there’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have let yourself care in the first place,’ she blurted out. Almost instantly she regretted it. Who was she to say such a thing? It was none of her business. No one was her business.

  ‘How can you stop caring?’ He was watching her with eyes that seemed to see far more than she wanted them to see. ‘How did you stop caring, Rachel Tilding?’

  ‘I didn’t. It’s just... I don’t get involved.’

  ‘And yet you looked after my boys in an emergency. You couldn’t walk away.’

  ‘I accept responsibility when I must. That’s not caring.’

  ‘It seems like it to me.’

  ‘It’s not.’ She sounded panicked, she knew she did, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  ‘Is caring something to be frightened of?’

  ‘Yes!’ And how exposed did that make her feel?

  ‘It shouldn’t be.’ His hand came out and took hers again, and his fingers slid up her wrist. She’d unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves before donning scrubs. She’d rolled them down again but her cuffs had stayed unfastened.

  Now his hand slid up her arm, still gently. She could pull away but it was as if she was paralysed. She just...let him.

  The scars were all above her elbows. Never below. Her stepfather had learned that early—if he hurt her where it could be seen then trouble followed.

  Tom’s fingers found them. Traced them.

  His eyes asked questions she knew he wouldn’t voice.

  She could step away. She could keep her boundaries in place. But something seemed to be breaking and she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

  ‘Who?’ he asked gently and the question hung.

  Walk away or tell him? Suddenly there was no choice.

  ‘My stepfather,’ she said at last, because the need to tell him was suddenly almost overwhelming. ‘Stepfathers aren’t always like you. Burning me was less effort than hitting me.’

  ‘Rachel...’ It was an appalled whisper, a whisper that made her flinch.

  ‘They’re old scars,’ she told him, speaking too fast, wanting to get it over with. ‘And it stopped. When I was eleven the school sports uniform changed, to capped sleeves instead of longer ones. I stuck to the old uniform until my gym teacher felt sorry for me and gave me one out of lost property. She insisted I put it straight on. I can still remember her face. I remember being terrified because of all the things my stepfather told me would happen if anyone found out, but in the end it was my escape. The school called the police and I didn’t have to see him any more. Then there were foster homes. Decent food and clothes. Space to study. All the things I craved.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  That was the hard bit, but somehow she made herself continue. ‘She...she stayed loyal to him,’ she told him and even now it felt appalling to say. ‘Even when he went to prison. But it was fine. I was looked after. I’d escaped. Not like you.’

  ‘You can’t compare my situation to yours,’ he told her, still horrified. ‘Not in a million years.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘But I’d never be in your situation. I never let myself care. I do what I have to do.’

  ‘Out of duty? Why don’t I believe that?’

  ‘It’s true. I accept responsibility but I never take it further.’

  ‘So when you touched me then?’

  ‘I felt sorry for you.’

  ‘Really? Was that all it was?’

  ‘Yes!’ Emotion was threatening to overwhelm her. She wrenched her arm back, snatching it against her chest as if it hurt.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said.

  ‘You keep saying that. I don’t for a minute think you’re capable of hurting me.’

  ‘Do you equate the two?’ he said almost casually. ‘Caring and hurting?’

  ‘You’re not my shrink.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be your shrink. I’m a surgeon. I see what’s inside people’s bodies, not their heads. But hell, Rachel, what you’ve lived through...’

  ‘Leave it,’ she said roughly.

  ‘And leave you? You’ve just spilled your secret to me. Will you go home and sleep tonight?’

  ‘I’ve slept after far worse,’ she snapped and then bit her lip. What was she doing, exposing herself like this?

  ‘It’s not bad, telling people what happened,’ he said, his eyes still watchful. Still caring? ‘What happened to you was bad. Talking to someone who could be a friend should surely be the opposite.’

  ‘I don’t...do friends.’

  ‘Then maybe you should.’

  His hands caught hers again. Two strong hands holding hers. Warmth holding cold. Steady holding shaking.

  Man holding woman.

  ‘You’re a strong, vibrant woman,’ he said firmly now, as if he needed to convince her. ‘You’ve come through a war and out the other side, and you need to get on with life. But life involves sharing. Caring. It involves warmth, passion, all the things you’re most scared of.’

  ‘I’m not scared.’

  ‘Really?’

  And then there was silence. A long silence. It stretched into the night, not peaceful but somehow not threatening either. It was a moment where the world seemed as if it could shift either way—it couldn’t decide.

  And then Tom said, ‘I’d like to kiss you.’

  Well, there was the signal to run. There was the signal to get off the veranda fast, to retreat to her cottage and bolt the door behind her.

  But his hands still held. Gently, though. She could pull away if she wanted.

  But his eyes held her too, and that was a link she couldn’t break. She was gazing up at him in the moonlight, at this charismatic man, at warmth, compassion, strength, empathy.

  Caring.

  Everything she’d been afraid of for ever was right here and she couldn’t break away.

  She simply stood while his statement hung.

  I’d like to kiss you.

  She had to say no, but the word wouldn’t come. His eyes held and held and held. The stillness of the night. The peace. The feel of this man’s hands.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she heard herself whisper and then he kissed her, and the night melted into oblivion.

  * * *

  What was he doing?

  This was a colleague, a woman he’d met only one week before. More, she was damaged, scarred, not only physically but mentally. That meant she was needy and heaven keep him from more need. He should be quietly sympathetic, empathetic even. He should talk to her about counselling alternatives—and then he should step away.

  Instead he was drawing her close. Her breasts were moulding against his chest. He was tilting her chin—and he was kissing her.

  And the moment his mouth met hers...

  Something.


  Some indefinable something. Some connection he hadn’t felt in all the years he’d dated.

  Maybe it was the night, the stillness, the calm, the beauty of the scene around them. Maybe it was the way he felt about her, the sense that she’d been so badly hurt. Maybe it was that he felt appalled, horrified for her.

  But maybe it was none of those things. Maybe it was the way her mouth seemed to melt against his. Maybe it was the curve of her body. Maybe it was the tiny murmur she gave as his mouth touched hers.

  Maybe it was because he felt her surrender.

  And it was surrender. He’d been watching her, talking to her, feeling his way, and he’d sensed fear. He’d seen boundaries she’d never crossed. But like a wild kitten enticed by food, by whispers, by warmth, he’d seen the temptation to trust. He’d seen her let slip boundary after boundary as she’d spoken to him.

  And then she’d whispered acquiescence to this kiss and the last of the boundaries had fallen away and she was in his arms.

  Not needy though. No longer needy. She was kissing him right back. Her hands went to the small of his back, holding him, claiming him as much as her mouth was claiming his.

  And the kiss...

  It was as if a spark had ignited a force he’d never expected, a force that held and held and held.

  This woman. This night.

  There were no barriers now. There was no room for backgrounds, for discussion of past wounds, of current responsibilities. Everything had fallen away in the face of this wonder.

  For that was it—wonder. This kiss was almost one of primeval desire. They were two people who’d forgotten what they needed most but had suddenly found it. Two people who weren’t letting go.

  Neither could break away. Why should they? This was time out of frame, a wondrous moment snatched almost from life. The feel of her...the taste of her...