by Margaret Way
Sarah crossed to the dressing table and sat down on the padded seat. She clasped the pearls around her throat. They had a lovely luster that complemented her skin. The pearls had been her mother’s prize possession. It had taken her father years to buy her mother a proper engagement ring. A small diamond cluster. Sarah wore it on her right hand. She decided it could stay there until she died.
Father and mother gone. Rose. Her private torment. She had patients with worse griefs. The ghastly, gut-wrenching days when a young cancer patient died. Those deaths were always devastating, no matter how expected. Yet she’d learned to maintain a sense of objectivity, a professional calm. It was either that or go mad.
Sarah stared into the faintly spotty mirror, seeing through and beyond it to the past. The past was Kyall. In a way she’d been reliving it since she arrived in Koomera Crossing. She couldn’t see into the future. Much as memories of Kyall had dominated her life, she couldn’t picture herself marrying him. Not then. And not now.
Sarah stood up. She went to the bed, picking up her mother’s pretty wedding dress. How slender and petite Muriel had been. She herself was taller, longer-limbed. The dress was simple, youthful, with a scooped neck, tulle sleeves bound with satin, a skirt with bands of tulle and satin. Although packed very carefully, the materials had yellowed with age. As had the flower-wreathed veil.
You didn’t have much time to be happy, Mum, she thought as she repacked it with fresh tissue paper. Dad even less. Maybe there’s a curse on us all. Yet she could imagine her mother on her wedding day, floating toward her bridegroom, face radiant with love. Jock Dempsey, from all accounts, had been a prize. It hadn’t been unusual to hear her mother ask repeatedly and with some wonder, “Jock, why did you marry me? I’m so ordinary.”
“That’s ridiculous! You’re lovely, inside and out,” her father had always replied tenderly. “My lovely loyal wife.”
Her parents had been very happy together in the short time they had. Always touching each other, sharing words of love. Maybe it was genetic, this one-man, one-woman thing.
It was well after eleven o’clock, as she was preparing for bed, that she heard footsteps, one after the other, on the rear stairs leading to the store’s small flat. Her stomach contracted with apprehension. Who could it be at this time of night? As she listened in some dismay, she heard a knock. And she recognized his voice.
“SARAH? PLEASE OPEN the door. I can see your light.”
Kyall. Ruth hadn’t taken long. Sarah picked up her robe and slipped it on, tying the silk cord at the waist. No point trying to send him away. Kyall had come looking for her. Probably without pity.
“You finally made it,” he said. There was no duplicity in his smile. No anger.
She nearly buckled with relief. Ruth hadn’t told him, if only for one reason—that she’d be exposing herself. “Kyall, this isn’t a good idea,” she protested as if the sleeping town was all ears. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Thirty minutes past the hour of eleven.” Laconically he consulted his watch, then looked back at her, his eyes so ablaze they practically blinded her. “Are you going to let me in?”
His voice didn’t suggest he’d been drinking. Neither did his appearance. The light from inside revealed the strong planes and angles of his face, the blue-black gloss of his hair.
“This will be all over town before morning.” She stood aside to let him enter, the door so narrow and he so tall and wide-shouldered, she had to ease back.
“Why should we care?” His smile sparkled with mockery. “We’re admired by just about everyone in town, aren’t we? Hell, Sarah, we’re not kids who need supervision. We’re both over thirty. And getting older every day. I have no woman. You have no man. Neither of us has a child. The fact of the matter is that we’re stuck in a time warp.” He moved across the small living room to slump into an armchair, yanking free the top button of his shirt. He looked up, studying her. “What happened to us, Sarah? Why the hell are we marooned like this?”
She felt herself flush. “Conflict of interests.” My interests conflicted with your grandmother’s. She was determined to erase me from your life.
“‘I do believe her, though I know she lies,’” he quoted from Shakespeare. His eyes moved over her with hunger. Over her graceful body in the pink satin robe, lingering on the lilac-shadowed cleft of her breasts. “I’d swear you had a light beneath your skin,” he whispered. “It actually glows.”
“It’s the pink satin,” she offered shakily, glancing around, not knowing what to do when she was assailed by an answering desire. Throughout her pregnancy, she’d dreamed of Kyall charging in like a knight of old to rescue her, vanquishing his grandmother. If only he had been there to share in her experience. If only she’d had his support. At least he’d been spared her terrible grief, although she knew in her heart he mightn’t see it that way. She realized now that Kyall wouldn’t have minded being “stuck with a baby.” Considering that neither of them had progressed to finding other partners, they might just as well have waited a few years, then got married. She still couldn’t work out how her baby had come to die, although she’d seen the death certificate. She’d done all the right things. She was young and healthy. Her baby had looked perfect. She couldn’t understand it. And she couldn’t get over it. There was no burial place to visit. Not even the baby’s ashes to keep or to scatter. Ruth McQueen had taken charge of everything.
Ruth McQueen and Nurse Fairweather? Oh, yes, she had a lot of unfinished business in this town.
“Sarah, where are you?” Kyall asked. “Some far place where I can’t reach you?”
“I was thinking. A bad habit of mine.”
“Don’t drive me away. Don’t, Sarah,” he begged. “I made one big mistake in my life. I don’t want to make another. Come here to me.”
She went slowly, standing before him. He took one of her hands, kissed it. “What’s made you the way you are, Sarah? I know you wanted to be a doctor. I know you’re a good one. But don’t you want a full life? Doesn’t that mean family?”
“What do you want from me, Kyall? What do you expect from me?” Her body was trembling and singing both at the same time.
“A bloody sight more than I’m getting.” Roughly he pulled her down into his arms, hands very firm. “I want you to marry me. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
Her face reflected conflict and the fever that was in her. If he knew about their child, he might hate her. He might attach rightful blame.
“You don’t have to answer now,” he said, fearful he might lose her all over again. “But let me love you. I’m done with words.” His hand clenched her hair. “Far better to make you ache for me.” His hand stroked her breast, taking its soft weight, his thumb seeking and finding the already erect nipple while sensation hammered away at him. What was romantic love? A sickness with no cure?
She moaned, unable not to. Still he didn’t kiss her, holding her face away.
Finally, in an agitated flurry just as he intended, she lifted her arms to encircle his neck, a silken rope to bind him to her.
“What I want is you, calling up the magic.” There was no tenderness in his tone. More an edge of sexual hostility for the humiliations she had caused him.
Then, before she could say a word, he brought down his mouth to silence her, tasting the honey and lemon of her breath. How this woman assaulted his every sense! He wanted to do things to her he’d never thought to do with any other woman. He was desperate for her, straining her to him. His hand slid from her breast over the firm flesh of her stomach, moved lower…lower… He knew she wanted it because she didn’t stop him. It was ravishing to know her body, but he wanted more, much more. He wanted it to be absolutely his. He wanted her heart and her soul.
Passion raged through him. He found and freed the single satin button that held the low V of her nightgown together. Then he peeled the fabric down, so that it pooled around her waist. “How beautiful you are.” He abandoned himse
lf to the sheer erotic pleasure of looking at her. The flowering buds of her nipples were tight with arousal, pink at the edge, rose at the center. They demanded to be suckled. He lowered his head, his mouth eager and hungry.
She gripped his head, as his every nerve end twitched and sizzled. He could feel her body shaking convulsively at his ministrations. He could hear her utter his name on one long-drawn-out moan. It was a powerful incitement to finish what he’d started. With a single move, he lifted himself out of the chair with her in his arms, carrying her off to the small bedroom. The bed had belonged to her mother. Even that thought couldn’t distract him. Desire held him in its thrall.
His Sarah. His bright and shining light. His torment.
He knew he ought to ask her if her time was right, and he did, tension in his voice and a sheer, frightening drive.
Her “Yes!” burst out in a wrenching sob.
He stripped her gown from her. She lay perfectly quiescent as he did so. Possessively he trailed a hand up and down her gleaming skin—difficult to imagine a woman’s body more beautiful—before stepping back to remove his own clothes and throw them on a chair.
Sarah in turn could only watch him, her own body burning with a fiery need that matched his. He was tanned all over. No band of pale skin. In the outback heat the male station workers thought nothing of skinny-dipping in the creek. It had been years and years since she’d seen his naked body. He’d been little more than a boy then. Now he was a man. Taller, broader of shoulder, with wonderful muscle density. His arousal was thrilling. Promise of what was to come.
Then he was beside her, turning her body toward him, flesh on flesh, enveloping her in his arms as if he were holding the most precious woman in the world.
“Sarah! My darling. Darling. Darling.”
She couldn’t answer. The force of her hunger was holding her mute. He was where she desperately wanted him to be. Fused to her naked body. Her blood ran like wine. Soon he would be inside her.
She had no doubts of her love for him.
How have I lived without this?
“Come inside me,” she crooned.
FOR LONG MINUTES AFTERWARD neither of them spoke. Kyall lay on his back with Sarah’s head resting on his shoulder, one arm like the lightest, most welcome pinion across his chest.
Finally he managed a few words. “I needed that to convince me you still want me.”
“Well, now you know.” She reached out to stroke his cheek. “My chosen one. My only love. I gave my heart to you so many years ago. Now it’s impossible to take it back.” She bestowed on him her old secret smile.
“Then there’s no question of your going away.” His hand grasped a handful of golden curls. “You have to stay with me and take over from Joe.”
“If the town wants me.”
“Wants you?” His voice lifted with elation. “Of course they want you. You’re their favorite child grown up. I’m not asking you to stay at the hospital forever, Sarah. I know you have ambitions. Hell, I have them myself. I’ve been approached to go into politics.”
“Really?” She lifted herself on an elbow to stare at him. His eyes in the glow from the single lamp glittered like sapphires. “Politics have always mattered to you—the direction our country’s taking.”
“Sounds all right to you?”
“Of course it does!” She looked at him proudly. “You have so much to offer. You can always oversee the McQueen operations. You have your mother and father, not to mention your grandmother. She’s in her seventies, but she could go on forever.”
“Will you marry me?” He put a lot of determination into his voice. “Say it, Sarah.”
She bent forward and slipped the tip of her tongue into his mouth, let it entwine with his. “You must let me think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?” He eased her onto her back. “Our life should be full of love and hope. Hope for the future. I want children. I love children. I know you do, too. Let’s build a life together. Starting now. Too much time has already got away. I’ll never stop you from furthering your career. I’m too proud of you. We can manage. Others do. You have to say yes.”
Was it her moment to scatter all the radiance, the gold dust of dreams? Tell him how she’d had their baby but never seen its tiny lifeless body? He would surely blame her, for she had never ceased to blame herself.
“Sarah?” He raised her to him, almost crushing her, forgetting his strength. “What is it? What’s haunting you?”
“Grief,” she admitted through the hard lump in her throat. “I’m full of grief. I can’t seem to shed it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not even giving you a chance, am I?”
“Hush!” The weight of her secret had grown unbearable. “I love you, Kyall. I want to be with you for always, but you must give me a little breathing space.”
“You have nothing to fear from my grandmother,” he told her as that possibility leaped into his mind. “I know people hate her. Sadly I can see why. But she will never hurt you.”
“What are you going to do? Shove her in prison?” For an instant she used the cutting edge of her tongue. “Maximum security?”
“I’ll warn her. I think that’ll be enough. Her problem is that she’s jealous of you, Sarah.”
“Indeed she is. She wants to keep you for herself or marry you off to a woman she can control.”
“That’s sick!” he groaned.
“It is,” Sarah quietly agreed, sinking back against the bed. As always, she was chilled by any mention of that oppressive woman. “Your grandmother has a darkness in her that separates her from the rest of us. You can’t even see into her eyes.”
Kyall ranged his long body beside hers, thrusting an arm behind his head. “I know that. I’ve lived with it all my life. Gran can’t envision life without being the one in control. You threaten her, and she loathes that. But even if she opposes your taking over from Joe at the hospital, I’ll block her. Trust me. I have my own supporters. My mother will present no problem. She will do as I ask.”
Sarah considered this wryly. “Are you sure of that? Your mother doesn’t hear what she doesn’t want to hear.”
Who knew that better than his father? His mother had perfected the art of selective hearing. “If you want Joe’s job, it’s yours,” he said with quiet emphasis. “But you can be sure of one thing.” He caught her chin, compelling her to look directly into his eyes. “After tonight I’ll never let you go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
BACK AT THE CLINIC in Brisbane, Sarah lost no time handing in her resignation. It was received with such dismay, she might have found it gratifying—but she didn’t. Despite her confidence in the decision, she felt torn about leaving her patients and colleagues.
Clinic head Peter Crawley, an attractive man with a reassuring face, threw off his glasses and leaned back in his leather chair. “Lord, Sarah! There can’t be much for you way out there. It’s still the back o’ beyond. You’ll spend your life treating snake bites and spider bites and the odd tourist with sunstroke. It’s enough to make the eyes glaze over.” He looked across his desk at her, marveling at her decision. Sarah Dempsey was a valuable member of his team, a dedicated doctor who invested a heartfelt commitment to her work. The clinic would miss her badly on both a professional and personal basis.
“I was born there, Peter,” she reminded him. “I’ll have plenty of patients with all manner of ills. Patients are the same everywhere. I’ll keep up with the literature. Or try to. There’s so much of it.”
“But, Sarah!” Peter Crawley was still desperate to talk her out of it. “In all honesty, how could you endure it? You’ll go crazy! You’re too bright to bury yourself in the bush. The patients here love you, especially the mothers and children. I can’t imagine what we’re going to do without you. Tell me I’m going to wake up and find this is all a nightmare.”
“You’re a sweet man, Peter, but you know I’m not indispensable. I’ll be very sorry to leave my patients and the clin
ic. We’ve all worked so well together. I can recommend a colleague of mine, though, a friend, Jane Kirby. We went through med school together. She’s been looking to buy into the right practice. She’d be ideal to take over from me. I’ll sound her out first, if you like.”
“Never. We want you.” Still in a state of shock, Peter Crawley brooded, staring down at the pile of medical files on his desk. “Someone’s taken one of my files,” he announced irritably, flipping through them.
“Not me.” Sarah knew he’d eventually find it. “Of course you’ll make your own choice, but Jane is very good with women and children.”
“Ah, dear!” Peter sighed painfully. “I’ll consider it. We can meet with her and take it from there. When are you going to leave us?”
“When you have my replacement settled in, Peter,” Sarah assured him. “There’ll be nothing left in disarray. I won’t leave you in the lurch or abandon my patients overnight.”
“What a mystery woman you are!” Peter said, suddenly sighting the “lost” file on top of a cabinet where he’d left it. “I wish I could persuade you to change your mind.” He put his glasses back on to study her.
“There are things I have to do, Peter,” she explained in a serious voice. “I have to work my way through a whole maze of personal questions that have never really been answered. It’s not just taking over at the hospital. It’s an opportunity to sort things out. Sort my life out. I’ve learned that we can never escape the past.”
“No, indeed. As someone rightly said, the past is never past. You’re not getting married, are you?”
“I have no immediate plans, Peter,” Sarah murmured, not looking up.
