Rescued by the Single Dad Doc

by Marion Lennox

  Answer—hardly ever.

  He used to, he conceded. When Claire was well, he’d immersed himself in the role of best buddy to these kids. But when he’d collected the boys for an afternoon’s soccer, she’d been waiting at home, ready to take over the moment he was called back to the hospital, or when the demands of his social life took over. He’d enjoyed his time with the boys with no strings. He’d been a joyful pseudo uncle, immersing himself in their fun and laughter, indulging as he liked and then handing them back at will.

  He’d lost that, almost the moment Claire had collapsed at work. Sure, he still messed around with them, played with them, but there was always the overriding knowledge that the buck ended with him. If there was a problem, he couldn’t mention it to Claire as he was handing them back. He had to fix it himself.

  So now...he couldn’t play until Claire rang—‘Tom, it’s school tomorrow. Are you feeding them junk food? They’ll be hyped and it’ll be impossible to get them to sleep. Get them home.’ Now, he had to judge for himself. Now, he had to face the consequences.

  But not this afternoon.

  Not with Rachel.

  He was rested. He’d organised spaghetti for dinner. Who knew that deciding on what meal came next was such a drag? But, with the afternoon free, he’d sorted it before he’d gone to sleep. Now there was no pressure. The boys were delighted to see him. The competition to see which surfer dude would ride the longest was intense—and Rachel was right there to help.

  She was a noticer. He’d had to practically haul her to the water’s edge but, once she’d committed, once Henry had handed over Wipe-Out Wally and asked her—tentatively—if she could throw it for him—she’d waded right in. Tom’s role turned out to be helping Kit throw Tip-Off Tony. Rachel’s first toss went further than his. The boys whooped with excitement and the challenge was on.

  But, no matter how much she was immersed in their fun, he saw Rachel constantly monitoring the kids, watching their expressions, seeing that no one was feeling left out. When Henry started to droop, she put Wipe-Out Wally into his hands, lifted him up and carted him waist-deep so he could throw it even further. Tom, who’d worn trousers to the beach—how dumb was that?—was stuck in the shallows. Kit and Marcus headed out too, so it was game on between the four of them, with Tom watching from the sidelines.

  Rachel might be whooping with the kids, but still he saw that watchfulness. The care to shield Kit’s hand, to edge around Kit so Marcus’s wild swings didn’t make contact.

  He thought of her as she wanted to be, a radiologist isolated in her technical world, not needing to interact, and he thought, What a waste.

  She was lit up, vivacious, laughing, her reserve set aside, and she fascinated him. Her shirt was clinging to her body, hiding the scars. They were still there, but hidden.

  Surface scars. He was watching her now, fascinated by the woman underneath.

  She was gorgeous. Strong, feisty, caring...

  Not caring. She wouldn’t define it as such, he thought. She’d define it as accepting responsibility but as he watched her watching the boys, making sure each was safe and having fun, he thought she had the definition wrong. She just had to see it.

  Could he show her what caring really was? Could he find the Rachel underneath the prickles? Underneath the wounds?

  The memory of last night’s kiss was suddenly all around him. He watched her hold Henry and jump a wave and he thought, She truly is beautiful.

  But what was he thinking? A wave splashed up, foam spraying high, and the dose of cold water was what he needed.

  He was standing behind three needy kids whose care was in his hands. Back on the shore was Tuffy, a rescue dog who’d been on death row when he and the boys had gone to the shelter to find a cute pup and brought home a three-legged, undernourished mutt instead.

  Four rescued souls. But they helped each other, he thought. The boys had each other, and that made them far more independent than if he’d been landed with only one.

  And Tuffy? Yes, he’d been rescued, but Tom had watched each of the boys form their own attachment to the little dog. Especially Henry, who had had nightmares ever since Claire’s death. Tom’s method of dealing with them was to wake him, hug him and then pop a very willing Tuffy into bed with him, and there were many times when each boy was comforted with individual Tuffy-cuddles.

  There were still times when the combined needs of three small boys were too much for Tom, with or without Tuffy. But Tuffy had helped. Adding another ‘rescue’ had eased the situation, not added to it.

  All this was floating as an uneasy, nebulous idea while he watched Rachel turn her back to a wave so Henry wouldn’t get splashed, and then check immediately that the wave hadn’t knocked either Marcus or Kit over.

  If he could get through that shell...

  He had to be kidding.

  The reality of what his stupid, overtired mind was suggesting slammed home. Dad and three kids and dog, with mum to close the circle? Happy families?

  This was nuts.

  ‘Where’s a wet fish when I need a good slap across the face?’ he said out loud. No one heard him. They were having too much fun. All of them.

  Family. Rachel?

  He definitely needed a wet fish. A big one. He’d known her for a week. She was here out of necessity, not desire. She was scarred, in more ways than one. Her career path was set in stone and it surely didn’t include Shallow Bay and a guy lumbered with three kids and a dog. And as for him...he had enough on his plate without being saddled with her baggage.

  But the way she’d felt last night...

  Then a wave, bigger than the rest, crested and broke straight over them. Marcus yelped and jumped and managed to avoid going under. Rachel jumped too, with Henry scooped up in front of her, but Kit wasn’t so lucky. He was slapped hard and disappeared under the foam.

  Tom was surging into the surf before he knew it, heading for where he’d last seen Kit, but Rachel was quicker than him. She still held Henry but with her other arm she scooped up Kit and tucked him firmly against her.

  She was soaked. Her curls were clinging every which way. Her arms were full of kids. Marcus edged towards her and somehow she made contact with him too.

  ‘Wipe-out,’ she said matter-of-factly as Tom reached her and relieved her of Kit. ‘I got us, even if we’re all soggy. But look, guys, our little surfers are almost reaching the picnic basket. Look at them go!’

  And she had their attention. The three little surfer figures, caught by the bigger than usual wave, were still cruising in, doing just what they were designed to do.

  ‘They’ll reach our picnic,’ Henry breathed, forgetting about the wave. ‘But mine’ll get there first.’

  ‘No, it’s Kit’s who’s winning,’ Rachel decreed as the wave surged over the dry sand. The tide was coming in fast and the picnic basket was definitely at risk. ‘Tip-Off Tony’s reached the furthest. In the interest of saving what’s left of the cupcakes, I declare the competition officially closed. So Kit gets the pick of the medals I made specially. You want to see them?’

  Of course they did. Of course Tom did.

  ‘They’re in a bag in the bottom of the picnic basket,’ Rachel told them.

  Trauma forgotten, Kit wriggled from Rachel’s arms and headed for shore. Tom watched with something akin to disbelief.

  Was this the same woman who’d spent her first weekend here tidying to the point of compulsion? She was sodden. She’d lifted kids he could hardly believe she could carry. The water had helped, of course, but even so, the combined weight of Kit and Henry had probably been that of a decent adult. She was now watching them run up the beach, seemingly oblivious to the fact that water was still dripping down her face. That other waves were rolling in. That she was being buffeted by the sea.

  Another wave hit and she rocked with it. He reached out to steady her but su
ddenly reality seemed to sink home. She’d been watching the kids and smiling but as his arm touched her she backed off, even as it meant she copped the full force of the wave.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she told him brusquely. ‘But look at you. You’re soaked.’

  ‘You and me both.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m dressed for it.’ She turned and looked out to sea at a boat chugging past, but he was aware that she was doing it to break contact between them. ‘The fishing boat out there,’ she said, and he heard a note of guilt. ‘I saw it come past. I should have known it’d cause a surge.’

  ‘It was hardly dangerous when you were so close.’

  ‘I should have been closer. They were only out this deep because I was with them. I shouldn’t have let them...’

  ‘You were having fun,’ he said gently. ‘And so were they. They’re safe and they’re happy. That’s all that matters.’

  The boys were back at the basket now. Tom saw them raise three huge medallion-type circles on scarlet ribbon.

  ‘They say “Super Surfer One”, “Ace Surfer Two” and “Surfer Spectacular Three”,’ Kit shouted. ‘I’m Super Surfer One!’ He put the medallion round his neck and whooped off along the beach, his brothers whooping after.

  ‘Where did you get those?’ Tom asked faintly, watching three little boys, each with a medal thumping across his chest.

  ‘A cornflake packet, Texta pen and gift wrap ribbon,’ she said. ‘I thought I might need something to finish the afternoon with. Organised R Us.’

  ‘Where did you learn...?’

  ‘I had a great foster mother,’ she told him. ‘Once. Briefly.’

  ‘You’re amazing.’

  ‘No, I’m just organised. I think of all eventualities.’

  ‘Because you’ve had to.’

  ‘Let’s not go there,’ she told him brusquely, and then she shivered. ‘I’m getting cold. Time to go home.’

  Home.

  Two homes.

  One, Rachel’s little cottage.

  Two, his, where chaos reigned.

  ‘We have spaghetti at our place,’ he told her. ‘Feel like sharing?’

  ‘Why would I want to?’

  It was a strange answer, harsh, an instinctive response rather than a thought-out one. She heard it and corrected herself almost instantly. ‘Sorry. That wasn’t very gracious. Thank you for the offer but no, I have work to do.’

  ‘More lyssavirus study?’

  ‘You never know when those bats will strike,’ she said, and he heard the effort she made to keep her voice light. ‘So, moving on, Dr Lavery...’ She shivered again.

  Once again he had an almost irresistible urge to reach out to her, but he knew what her response would be. He could see it.

  He could see fear.

  This afternoon he’d needed her and she’d responded with generosity and thoughtfulness. Now, though, the need was over and she was withdrawing.

  But he... He still needed?

  That was a crazy thought.

  She was moving on. He could only watch as she headed up the beach, grabbed a towel and started rubbing the water from her curls.

  He wanted to help.

  No, he didn’t. If he started feeling like that, it’d make matters very messy.

  Except he was feeling like that.

  And suddenly Dr Tom Lavery was starting to see a plan. Right now it was no more than a thought bubble, but it wasn’t to be rejected out of hand. There was time to see if it was feasible. Two years of time.

  It did seem nuts, but the idea had lodged and wouldn’t go away.

  He’d need patience. He’d need luck and he’d need to be a lot surer than he was now. But the more he thought about it... He’d rescued three kids and a dog already. Was it even vaguely possible that one gorgeous, feisty, defensive woman could complete the picture for them all?

  * * *

  She headed back to her cottage, feeling weird.

  She shouldn’t. She’d acted according to need, which was her mantra. Do what was needed in order to survive. In order to get on. In order to make the people around her be nice to her.

  Hadn’t she learned that the hard way? Placate and placate and placate, in the hope that conflict could be avoided.

  There hadn’t been the threat of conflict this afternoon, but there’d been concern about an exhausted colleague. She’d accepted responsibility. She’d sorted it. She should feel okay.

  So why was she feeling weird? Why was she feeling as if she’d rather have stayed on the beach for a while, maybe headed back to have dinner with them? Be part of what they were?

  That was the age-old yearning, she told herself. Rachel Tilding, on the outside looking in. Tom was somehow creating his version of happy families, and hadn’t she learned the hard way what happened when you did that? Foster families had folded under the strain of having her associated baggage. Events had just...happened...leaving her more desolate than when she’d started.

  Like her, Tom had acted according to need, she conceded, but he’d had no choice. He had to be where fate had placed him, but she had a choice. She’d made it years ago when she’d walked out of her last foster home and closed the door behind her.

  She walked back into her little cottage and once again the door closed behind her.

  Leaving Tom and his scary version of happy families firmly on the other side.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIFE SETTLED DOWN to how it ought to be. How she’d expected it to be. She was working to the best of her ability before she returned to the nice anonymous city where she could get on with her future career.

  There’d been a period after her afternoon with the boys where she’d felt unsettled. As if life was teetering towards something she couldn’t control. The next time she’d seen Tom he’d smiled at her in a way she’d found disturbing, his eyes full of warmth and laughter. He’d told her the boys were looking forward to a repeat.

  ‘Only in an emergency,’ she’d said, more harshly than she’d intended.

  ‘Why? Didn’t you have fun?’

  ‘They enjoyed themselves. That’s all that matters.’

  And that was that. She had no intention of taking anything further.

  With one month down—only one year and eleven months to go!—she had reason to feel satisfied. She hadn’t seen her first case of lyssavirus, but she was learning more about family medicine every day. Even the medical needs of the valley seemed to have settled. Col was back on his farm, on his beautifully repaired hip. Roscoe’s son was thriving. Frances Ludeman had successfully delivered her sixth baby and declared that was the end of it.

  ‘I need to feel like I have some control over my life,’ she’d told Rachel. Rachel wondered how on earth having six children equated with control, but she could agree with the sentiment.

  Control was what Rachel valued at all costs, and if she had to ignore the weird way Tom Lavery’s smile made her feel...well, that was a small cost for keeping her world safe.

  ‘You want to come to a birthday party?’

  It was Monday morning. Rachel had just completed a ward round. Tom was due to run the clinic while Rachel was scheduled for vaccinations at the local library.

  ‘We don’t bring the babies into the clinic for vaccinations,’ Tom had told her. ‘There’s an increased risk of catching bugs brought in by sickies, and besides, we don’t want kids’ first experience of clinic to be a needle. The library puts on morning tea. It has a toy section. Apart from a tiny prick, the parents enjoy it, and so do the kids.’

  It wasn’t as efficient, Rachel had thought as he’d told her, but then there was a lot that wasn’t efficient in family medicine.

  One year, eleven months...

  ‘A birthday?’ she said now, cautiously, and he smiled. Drat it, she wished he wouldn’t. He was a colleague and why that s
mile twisted something that had no right to be twisted...

  ‘Kit’s birthday,’ he told her. ‘Saturday afternoon. Mostly in the garden if it’s good weather, or in my living room—heaven help me—if it’s not. Anybody who’s anybody will be there—twelve kids at least—and Kit says he’d love you to come.’

  ‘Kit scarcely knows me.’

  ‘That’s not true. He thinks of you as a friend.’

  ‘How can I be a friend? I’m not.’

  ‘Really?’ He eyed her cautiously. ‘So what makes a friend, Rachel Tilding?’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Is it someone who helps out in times of trouble?’ He answered himself. ‘That’s a decent definition and you’re a fine fit.’

  ‘I do what I have to do,’ she said a bit crossly, trying to avoid his gaze. Those eyes. ‘I’ll cover you medically, make sure Kit’s party isn’t interrupted.’

  ‘Saturday afternoon’s normally quiet. Can I tell Kit you’ll come?’

  He raised his brows in question, and his eyes still held hers. Smiling. There was understanding behind that smile, and it got to her.

  He thought she was afraid?

  She wasn’t. Okay. A birthday party. Lots of people. She could pop in and out, get it out of the way.

  ‘Fine,’ she snapped, and then caught herself. There was no need to snap. This was a child’s birthday party, nothing to be angry about. ‘I’ll make cupcakes.’

  He grinned at that. ‘That would be excellent, though actually I have a favour to ask. You did say you liked cooking?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then how about a birthday cake? I was going to order one from the bakery, but the choice is pink or blue butter cakes and even I think they’re a bit ordinary.’

  She relaxed. This was something easy, even enjoyable. It was also a reason she could tell herself she was going. She could put it in her ‘accept responsibility’ basket.

  ‘I’d enjoy making a birthday cake,’ she told him and was rewarded by a smile that seemed almost blinding. That had her taking an instinctive step back.