by Fiona Lowe
His cheerful open face suddenly closed, and the dimples in his cheeks smoothed over. ‘Four months.’
He handed her one end of a tarpaulin. ‘What about you?’
She caught the deft change, the power switch in the conversation, and she pulled the tarp tight, just like her mother had taught her as a child when she folded sheets. He didn’t want to talk about why he was here. ‘I’ve been here since the start of the month.’ She walked up to him to match her corners to his.
‘Is this a long-term plan for you?’ His fingers slid over hers as he moved to accept the tarp.
The sharp tingle of sensation almost made her drop her corners and she found herself gripping them instead of releasing them into his hands. The moment she let go, she flexed her fingers, willing the shimmering away.
Since the age of twelve Kirby had been tall and she was used to being a similar height to many men. But she had to tilt her head to look up into Nick’s face. It disconcerted her. He disconcerted her. ‘It’s a summer plan to start with. I’m doing a six-month GP rotation.’ Six months to pull herself together.
‘A summer by the sea. Sounds relaxing.’ His dimples reappeared, deepening as he smiled.
Her heartbeat seemed to skip. How could one man’s smile make her feel almost dizzy? This is your opening—grab it. The practical words broke into the haze that enveloped her brain. ‘Actually, apart from a run along the pier in the mornings, that is as close as I’ve got to the beach.’
He slapped his palm down on the tailgate of the ute and Turbo immediately jumped onto the tray, turned around and lay down. ‘Quiet Port Bathurst been keeping you busy?’
‘It’s hardly quiet! Between the residents, the work with Kids’ Cottage and now the tourists arriving, I can barely get to the laundrette on a Sunday to do my washing. I had easier days back at Royal William.’ She stared straight up at him. ‘I’m surprised the hospital board didn’t approach you when you moved down here.’
His hands stilled for a fraction on the tailgate. ‘Until this morning, the hospital board didn’t know I was a doctor.’ He slammed the back of the ute shut and wiped his hands on an old towel. ‘No one did.’
His words stunned her. ‘Why on earth not?’
A shadow passed through his eyes, like a cloud scudding across the sun. ‘Because I didn’t come here to practise medicine.’
Her plan, so clear and perfect in her head, took a massive broadside hit, but she wasn’t letting go just yet. ‘But you’re a talented doctor and Port needs you.’
Dark brows drew together, causing a crease at the bridge of his nose. ‘No, it doesn’t, Kirby. Port’s got you. Besides, I’m an accident and emergency specialist, not a GP, and right now I’m really not interested in working.’
She wanted to stamp her feet. She had the ideal mentor in front of her and he didn’t want to work. She chewed her lip as her limited options ran through her head. With a deep breath she played the only card she had left in her deck. Honesty. She raised her gaze to his and spoke from the heart. ‘Without your help, I can’t work here.’
Over the last couple of months Nick had said an enthusiastic ‘No’ to five job offers from hospitals around the country with barely a second thought about his decision. But one glance from Kirby’s blue eyes, swirling with honesty and tinged with pleading, and suddenly every reason for not working was teetering on unsteady foundations. ‘What do you mean, you can’t work here without my help?’
‘How well do you know Port?’
‘I don’t really know it at all. I come here for the market but I use Barago as my centre for supplies as it’s bigger.’
She laced her fingers, moving them back and forth against the backs of her hands. ‘Soon after I arrived in Port, Christopher Grayson, the town’s GP, fell ill.’
Ignoring the wavering feeling, he stuck firmly to the facts. ‘When is Grayson due back?’
Her gaze held his with a steady look. ‘He’s not. Unfortunately, he had a stroke and he’s currently in rehab.’
He shoved his hands in his pockets, empathy weaving through him for a man who had a battle on his hands. But this wasn’t his problem and there was another solution. The foundations steadied. ‘So you advertise for another doctor to help you with the workload.’
She sighed, tucking stray hair behind her ear. ‘It’s not just the workload. I came to Port as part of my GP rotation.’
The image of her tugging at her bottom lip when she was deciding to send Garry to Barago beamed against his brain. His chest tightened. Suddenly her hesitancy and lack of confidence made sense. ‘Please don’t tell me this is your first six-month GP rotation.’
‘It is.’
Damn it. He slammed his right fist into his left hand. ‘So without supervision you can’t practise?’ But the question was rhetorical, he knew the answer.
‘Not in Port, no.’
He wasn’t ready to work in medicine just yet. He’d promised himself six more months, just savouring being well. Hell, surely he deserved that after everything he’d been through. He ran his hand across the back of his neck, trying to sort out his thoughts. He had no connection with this woman, no reason to turn his plans upside down to help her. The obvious solution shot into his head. ‘You could go elsewhere to do your rotation or back to Royal William.’
A shudder of tension moved through her. ‘Royal William isn’t an option I want to pursue. Look, Port has already lost one doctor, so it can’t afford to lose me.’ She tilted her head and the brilliant blue of her eyes flickered over him, pulling hard at his sense of duty. ‘And you wouldn’t do that to a rural community who’s so enthusiastically embraced your organic vegetable venture, would you?’
The words hit like a flyball, hard and unexpected. The woman in front of him with her long, blonde hair, honey-gold skin and an air of vulnerability had suddenly transformed from a pleading porcelain doll to a steely blackmailer. He could turn down large hospitals where there were plenty of other contenders for the job but she had him backed into a corner where his ‘no’ would impact on many hard-working people.
He wanted to kick the tyres on the ute, he wanted to be back on the farm digging over beds filled with fragrant soil, he wanted to be anywhere but here, dealing with an unwinnable ethical dilemma. He crossed his arms and took in a deep breath. ‘That’s true, no town deserves to be without a doctor.’
‘So you will work in Port this summer?’ Expectation and enthusiastic anticipation filled her voice.
A flood of heat collided with frustration. Well, she wasn’t getting everything her own way. ‘I’ll mentor you and give you the supervision you need, but I’m warning you now, I’m a tough teacher and I’ll expect one hundred and ten per cent.’ The words came out on a growl—the one he’d perfected to keep his interns on their toes. ‘But as for working, well, it will be with strict conditions.’
He waited, expecting to see signs of anxiety at his mild threat about being a tough teacher, and he certainly expected to see both disappointment and hear questions about the conditions he planned to impose.
But her mouth widened into a smile that raced to her eyes and seemed to dance around her like the white light of sparklers. ‘That’s fantastic. You won’t regret this, Nick, it will be a fabulous summer.’
But every single part of him regretted it already.
CHAPTER THREE
KIRBY sat and stirred her coffee at an outside table, looking down and watching the white foam of her latte blend into the hot milk. Nick sat opposite her. Usually she chose this table so she could admire the view of the bay and enjoy gazing at the pelicans, fascinated by the way they lowered their feet in preparation for a water landing.
But today she’d caught herself admiring the way Nick’s thick brown eyelashes almost touched his cheeks when he blinked and how the new streaks of silver against his temples gave him a look of authority. Unwanted tendrils of attraction had tightened inside her and she’d glanced away. It was a lot safer to stare at her coffee.
Nick moved the straw of his smoothie up and down through the dense blend of fresh fruits. Apparently he didn’t drink coffee. This was yet another surprise as every doctor she knew considered coffee a vital part of their day, but absolutely nothing about this man fitted the picture of the doctor she’d expected. However, despite everything being at odds with expectation, he’d offered to help her and that was all that mattered.
‘You’re missing out on an amazing flavour just for a superficial caffeine buzz.’ He winked at her as he drank his fruit concoction, his Adam’s apple moving rhythmically and hypnotically against his taut muscular neck.
A rush of heat burned her cheeks and she dragged her eyes away. ‘It’s not just the buzz, it’s the flavour of hazelnut.’ She already had a buzz and she hadn’t even taken a sip of her coffee. It had started simmering inside her from the moment he’d said he would mentor her. It felt oddly strange and yet deliciously wonderful and she was pretty sure it was relief.
You can call it relief if you want to.
She immediately took an indignant sip of her coffee and turned a deaf ear to the voice inside her head. Of course it was relief. Her search for a doctor was over and now she could stay in Port for her full six months. Stay a long way from Anthony and Lisa.
‘Tell me about the demographics of Port Bathurst.’ Nick pushed his large shake container off to the side, his eyes fixed firmly on her and filled with businesslike intent.
Kirby relaxed under his professional gaze. This was the working relationship she’d anticipated when she’d asked him to mentor her. ‘Fishing and farming are the main industries but life is tough in both. Many young people are leaving town, although the mayor was telling me that recently there’s been a push to increase tourism. A new diving business has opened in the main street, along with charter fishing trips, “Surf the wave” classes and catered cycling holidays.’
He nodded. ‘I sold vegetables from the farm gate to a family on a Gypsy Caravan adventure the other week. They’d started out from Port and were taking the back roads. Regeneration is really important for rural communities like this.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘So, how does all of this impact on the medical services?’
‘It keeps us busy. The clinic is attached to the hospital and there are six acute beds and a small emergency centre plus midwifery. Major traumas get airlifted to Melbourne after being stabilised here and elective surgery goes to Barago. We have a large elderly population and the hospital has a nursing-home wing which is currently full. Oh, and then there’s Kids’ Cottage.’
His eyes darkened slightly. ‘What’s that?’
She leaned forward as her enthusiasm for KC spilled out. ‘It’s a fabulous holiday camp for children. They have camps for sick children with chronic illnesses, they have camps for healthy kids who have siblings with chronic illnesses or disabilities, and they have camps for kids whose families are struggling emotionally or financially and just need a bit of breathing space.’
Nick’s fingers started to unroll the rim of the shake container. ‘But Kids’ Cottage would have their own medical staff, right?’
She shook her head. ‘No, the town has always provided medical assistance since it started one hundred years ago. It’s something that the locals are very proud of.’
A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘That’s one of my conditions.’
Laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘Are you going to fight me for first dibs on working with the kids?’ A nurturing warmth filled her, tinged with regret. ‘But I know what you mean, the cottage was a big drawcard for me to come to Port.’
His mouth firmed into an uncompromising line. ‘There’ll be no fight. I don’t want to work at the camp so you can happily keep all that work for yourself.’
She blinked, completely startled. ‘But the camp is so much fun. Why on earth don’t you want to work there?’
The waxy cardboard unravelled in his hands, pulled apart by rigid fingers. ‘I said I’d help you but there’d be conditions. This is one of them.’
His usually mellow voice was suddenly brusque and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the ‘doctor in charge’, the doctor used to issuing orders and being instantly obeyed without question. It caught her by surprise and a jolt of anger speared her. She tilted her chin—she wasn’t a green first-year resident. ‘What do you have against working with children?’
A streak of something she couldn’t really define flared in his eyes for the briefest moment, before being cloaked by a spark of irritation. ‘I didn’t say I had anything against working with children, I’m just exerting my right not to.’
His arrogance astounded her. ‘I suppose you had a paediatric registrar to save you from such work.’
‘That’s right.’
The blunt words hit her, their uncompromising tone harsh and decisive. ‘Well, there’s no paediatric registrar in Port so what about children who come into the clinic?’
His mouth flattened into an obdurate line. ‘On the unlikely chance you’re not available, I’ll see them.’
‘Well, that’s reassuring.’ The sarcastic words leapt off her lips as a fizz of frustration spread through her. ‘Do you have any other demographic groups you refuse to work with? Any other conditions I should know about before we start?’
His eyebrows rose in a perfect arch at her mockery, but when he spoke his tone was all steely business. ‘This is how I see it working. Each weekday morning I’ll meet you at seven a.m. for the nursing-home ward round and I’ll work half-day clinics Monday to Friday with lunchtime case-review sessions as part of your supervision. I’ll be unavailable on Saturdays because I’ll be at the market.’ He extended his arm toward her, every part of him vibrating with tension. ‘Deal or no deal?’
She recognised the adversarial glint in his eyes as a thousand questions hammered in her head and poured into her mouth, demanding instant answers. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t work at the camp. Why he would prefer not to see the children at the clinic—none of it made sense, but she swallowed hard against every single question, forcing them down deep. If she quizzed him too closely on why he wouldn’t work at KC he would walk, and she couldn’t risk that. He had her well and truly cornered and she had no choice.
Slowly, she stretched out her right hand and slid her smaller palm against his. Work-hardened calluses scraped gently over her softer skin in a tantalising caress as his fingers wrapped around her hand. His heat poured through her, racing along her arm, radiating into her chest, tightening her breasts and then burrowing down deep inside until every part of her had liquefied with desire. Yet a dangerous vixen-voice betrayed her, demanding even more.
No, no, I’m not doing this. I am immune to men. But her body disagreed. His touch was unlike any handshake she’d ever known and she breathed in sharply, trying to grasp control of her wayward and wanton body which longed to drape itself over the chair and purr with pleasure. She finally found her own voice and hoped it sounded firm and businesslike. ‘Deal.’
A smile roved across his face, creating twinkling dimples in his cheeks, sparking emerald lights in his eyes and completely eliminating all signs of his previous tension. ‘Deal it is, then.’
‘Wonderful.’ The word came out horrifyingly breathy, the vixen having gained control. Suddenly the deal that would keep her in Port, well away from Anthony and her shattered dreams, was no longer the ‘get-out-of-jail-free card’ that she’d expected.
‘But, Doctor, are you sure you’ve seen enough?’ Mrs Norton’s rheumy blue eyes sparkled as arthritic fingers fumbled over the pearl buttons on her crocheted bedjacket.
‘Let me help you with that.’ Nick smiled as he quickly buttoned the jacket on the elderly woman who would have been a stunning beauty in her younger days. ‘If you can flirt with me, Mrs N. then you’re doing just fine, but I have adjusted the diuretic so that should make breathing a little easier.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She touched his hand as he finished latching the last button. ‘And wh
en will you be in to see me next, dear?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘I’ll be ready.’ She gave him a wave as he left the room.
Mrs Norton was the last nursing-home patient on his morning round’s list and over the last hour he’d met all the residents. Every female patient had held his hand and flirted with him as well as showing him pictures of their granddaughters and great-granddaughters. ‘She’s a wonderful cook, Doctor, and you could do with some fattening up.’ The male patients had gruffly given him fishing tips, shaken their heads at his choice of football team and told him the ‘sure-fire’ solution to aphids—‘garlic and soapy water, Doc.’
After working in emergency medicine for years, he’d expected to find a nursing-home round slow and boring work. He didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t worked in almost two years and today he was just enjoying being back in the field, but he’d been surprised at how much fun he’d had chatting with them all. The moment he got home he was going to make up that aphid-fighting mixture and use it on his tomatoes this afternoon.
He glanced at his phone and read a text from Kirby asking him to meet her at the clinic. She hadn’t made it to rounds, having been called out at six a.m. to Kids’ Cottage.
He’d had no idea the town had a kids’ holiday camp dating back a hundred years. When he’d initially said he would have conditions attached to working here, he’d been thinking about how he would juggle the farm with practising medicine and still have precious time for himself. He hadn’t realised he would need to use the ‘conditions’ banner for anything else, but no way was he going to be the medico for a kids’ camp.
He shuddered as the memory of his father’s voice suddenly sounded in his head. You have to go, mate. You’ll enjoy it if you give it a chance.
He’d hated the enforced time he’d spent at camps as a kid and he sure as hell wasn’t spending time there as an adult. This time he had a choice and he was choosing to say no.
Suddenly the vision of Kirby’s wide blue eyes aimed squarely at him and full of disapproval shoved his father’s voice out of his head. Damn it, he was the experienced doctor and he had the right to say where he would work without giving a full-on explanation. He was so not revisiting his childhood, especially not with a woman whose eyes threatened to see down to his soul.
