Maybe it was the voice, he thought harshly. Upper-crust English. Maybe that was his Achilles’ heel.
Only it wasn’t the voice.
He lay back on his pillows, allowing himself a moment’s indulgence, letting himself remember the feel of the woman in the fluffy pink bathrobe.
A woman who smiled at Amy, who coached her, who cared. A woman who pushed herself past exhaustion because a sixteen-year-old kid needed her. Her skill had stunned him-she had been totally on Amy’s side; she was a midwife any woman would love to have at a birth.
But he also saw her as… a drowning bride at the end of a rope over a dark ocean.
The vision wouldn’t go away.
Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham.
Pippa.
Phillippa, he corrected himself harshly. English. Probably wealthy.
She was a nurse. Why would he think she was wealthy?
There was something about her… some intangible thing… the Roger story?
What did it have to do with him? Forget it, he told himself. Forget her. He did not need complications in his life. He already had a big one. Lucy
He glanced out the window. The sun was finally rising, its soft tangerine rays glimmering on the water.
Out at sea he’d have a chance to think. Or not to think.
Surf. And more surf. And medicine.
What was life other than those two things?
On Tuesday evening Riley went to see Amy. She was out on the hospital balcony, cuddling her baby and looking longingly at the sunset over the distant hills.
‘Hi,’ Riley said from the door, and she beamed a welcome.
‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘You’re my second visitor tonight.’
‘Second?’
‘Pippa came back to see me, too. Look.’ She held up a stuffed rabbit, small and floppy, with a lopsided grin that made Riley smile.
‘Cute.’
How long ago had Pippa been in? How much had he missed her by?
These were hardly appropriate questions.
‘You missed her by minutes,’ Amy said, and he caught himself and turned his attention back to where it should be. To his patient.
‘I came to see you.’
‘Pippa asked if you’d been in.’
‘Did she?’ He couldn’t help himself. ‘Is she still staying at the same hotel?’
‘She says her lowlife boyfriend’s paid so she’ll use it all. She’s trying to figure if he has to pay the mini-bar bill. If he does then she’s going to turn all those little bottles into a milkshake.’
He grinned. He could see her doing it. The girl had spunk.
More.
Pippa had been his patient. More was not appropriate.
‘When can I go home?’ Amy asked.
‘I’d like you to stay for a week.’
‘But you only go to Dry Gum every two weeks. You’re due there on Thursday. If I don’t go with you then I’m stuck here until next time.’
He hesitated. Four days post-delivery… He’d rather keep her here.
‘I hate hospitals,’ she said.
She didn’t. It was just that she was lonely. And young.
Should he take her home? Medical needs versus emotional needs. It was always a juggling act. There was a medical clinic-of a sort-at Dry Gum. It wasn’t perfect but he looked into Amy’s anxious face and he thought it would have to do.
‘If things are still looking good then we’ll take you,’ he told her. ‘But then I want you to stay with Sister Joyce for a week to make sure you know exactly how to care for your baby.’
‘I know most of it,’ she said. ‘I practically brought Mum’s kids up.’
She had, too. This kid had as much spunk as Pippa.
No. More. Pippa had clung to life for a night. Amy had been clinging to life for sixteen years. He’d known her since she was ten, a bossy little kid who ordered her tribe of brothers and sisters around, who herded them into clinic when she felt they needed it, who, he’d heard from others, had even been known to steal to get food for her siblings.
He’d felt sick when he’d learned she was pregnant. He felt like he’d personally failed her. Letting a sixteen-year-old kid get pregnant…
He couldn’t protect them all.
He could try.
‘There’s still stuff you need to learn,’ he told her.
‘I know there is,’ she said, serious in response. ‘Sister Joyce’ll teach me.’
‘You will stay with Sister Joyce for a week?’
‘Maybe longer,’ she said diffidently. ‘I’m not going home to Mum.’
That was a big step. Huge. Riley mentally rearranged his schedule and hauled up a chair. ‘So Baby Riley’s dad…’ he said. As far as he knew this baby was the result of a relationship that had lasted less than a month. ‘Jason?’
‘He’s gotta pull his socks up.’
‘Yeah?’
‘He wants to live with me,’ Amy said. ‘I asked Sister Joyce before I came here and she reckons she can get us one of the houses the government’s built by the school. Wouldn’t that be cool? I asked her if just me and the kid could go into it and she said yes. So I told Jason if he gets a job and sorts himself out he can come, too. Jason’s okay.’ She smiled then, a smile much wiser than her years. ‘He’ll be nice if I can keep him straight.’
If anyone could do it, it was Amy, Riley thought, in increased bemusement. Her look was suddenly fierce, determined, focused. ‘You know, when you and Pippa were helping me, I thought… That’s what I want to do,’ she said. ‘Be like Pippa. Sister Joyce’ll help me. I’m can learn.’
‘You’re a lot like Pippa already,’ Riley said, absurdly touched. ‘You both have courage in spades.’
‘Yeah, she’s good,’ Amy said. ‘What a waste she has to go back to England.’
She didn’t want to go back to England.
She was floating on her back in the sea. Of course she was going back. When you fall off a horse, get right back on. How many riding instructors had told her that?
It was Wednesday. The morning was gorgeous, the sea was glistening, there were flags showing the beach was patrolled and two burly lifesavers were watching her every move.
She wasn’t stupid. She didn’t go out of her depth. She just floated. Thinking…
What was there to go back to?
Her parents?
No. They wanted her to marry Roger. It had seemed such a neat solution, two sides of business meeting in marriage.
‘Marry Roger now,’ her father had said. ‘You’re wasting time messing about nursing. Get the family an heir.’
What sort of feudal system did he live in?
But Roger had been understanding for years, even when she’d said she wanted to break off their engagement and be free while she trained. He’d enjoyed himself then, too, she thought. They’d even discussed their respective boyfriends and girlfriends. Then, when he’d gently resumed pressure to marry, there had seemed no reason not to.
Looking back, she wondered… Had he been relieved to be given free time before he set about doing what he must to cement the family fortune?
It made her feel ill that she’d been so stupid.
‘I just wanted him to be my friend,’ she said out loud, and heard the neediness of the child within.
But she was no longer a child. She was in Australia. The sun was shining on her face. There were two bronzed surf lifesavers watching over her.
This place was magic, she thought. Whale Cove was two hours’ drive north of Sydney. It was a town rather than a city, clustered between mountains and sea, and it had to be one of the most beautiful places in the world.
‘But you can’t stay in your honeymoon hotel for ever,’ she told herself.
‘Why not? Roger’s paying.’ She rolled lazily over in the shallows, thinking about the pros and cons of Roger. She’d made some enquiries before she’d come-enquiries that maybe she would have been wise to have made before she’d got so close to the wedding.
; It seemed her bridesmaid hadn’t been the only one. He’d gambled on her not finding out.
She had to face it-he’d wanted her money, not her.
Ugh.
Suddenly she found herself thinking of Riley instead, and it was a relief when his image superimposed itself over her ex-fiancé’s.
Riley gambled, too, she conceded. She remembered him holding her in that black-as-pitch sea.
You’re safe. You don’t need to hold on, I have you.
He gambled with his own life to save others.
Melodramatic?
No.
What was he doing now? Off saving more lives?
She rolled onto her back again, watching the lone surfer she’d seen before. He was seriously good.
The waves were forming far out, building and curving and finally breaking, twelve feet high or so at their peak, then falling away to nothing, running themselves out as the water became deep again. There must be a channel between those waves and the beach, because in close the water was calm. Where she was the surf built again to about eight inches. Just enough to float on. Up and down. Watching the surfer. Thinking of nothing.
The surfer caught a huge swell. He was sweeping in on its face then disappearing underneath as the wave curled.
She caught her breath. She’d seen this on videos; being in the green room, they called it, totally enclosed in a tube of water. She watched on, entranced, wondering where he was. Was he still upright?
The wave curled right over, smashing to nothing at the end where he’d entered, collapsing in on itself all the way along, slowly, slowly for its full length.
And out he came at the other end. Still upright.
Riley?
She was suddenly standing chest deep, her hands up to shield her eyes from the sun. Was she imagining things?
Maybe not.
It was time to get out. The sensation that Riley might be sharing her water-space was somehow disturbing. She caught the next tiny wave in, then wandered up to the lifesavers.
She motioned-casually, she hoped-toward the surfer.
‘He’s good.’
‘He is,’ the older lifesaver said. ‘Bit driven, that one. Surfs no matter what the weather.’
‘Who is he?’ Though she already knew.
‘That’s our Doc Riley,’ the other guy said. ‘Puts himself out there, our doc. Great doc. Great surfer. Not bad with a billiard cue either.’
‘Crap at darts, though,’ the other guy retorted, happy to chat on a quiet morning. ‘The missus says I should let him win because he hauled her brother off his fishing boat when it went down. Doc’d hate that, though. Letting him win.’ He gazed out at Riley who’d caught his next wave. ‘I sometimes wish he’d come off out there and let someone else save him. Balance things up, like.’
‘Like that’s going to happen,’ the other guy said, and then he turned back to Pippa. ‘You’re English. Tourist?’
‘I’m here for my honeymoon,’ she said. It felt absurd to say it. But good. Honeymoons were great if they didn’t involve Roger.
‘So where’s the husband?’
‘He never got past fiancé and I left him in England.’ The casual conversation was starting to feel like fun. ‘Isn’t that the best place for fiancés?’
‘If you say so.’ The younger lifesaver was checking her out from the toes up, and she thought she deserved that. She’d practically thrown him a come-on line. ‘Hey, he’s coming out. Doc, I mean,’ he said, motioning to the surf. ‘That’s early.’
And Riley was right… there. One minute Riley had been far out at sea, the next he’d surfed across the channel, caught one of the tiddler waves, then reached the beach before she’d figured whether she wanted to see him.
Why wouldn’t she want to see him? She tried to think about it while he hauled his surfboard onto dry sand and strolled up to meet them.
The lifeguards greeted him like an old friend. She should greet him as well but she was too busy getting her breath back.
He looked… Awesome.
Weren’t surfers supposed to wear wetsuits?
He was only in board shorts. He’d be a lot easier to handle in a wetsuit, she decided.
Handle?
Handle as in come to terms with. Handle as in greet like a casual acquaintance.
Not handle in any other way.
But the look of him… He was every inch a surfer, tall, tanned and ripped. He didn’t look like a doctor. He looked like he should be… should be…
Maybe she should just stop thinking. Her silence was starting to be marked.
‘Hi,’ she managed at last, and he smiled, and that smile… He had no right to look like that. It threw her right off balance.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said. ‘Have you been looking after her?’ he asked the lifeguards. ‘This is Pippa, our floater from Sunday night.’
Whoa. How to embarrass a girl. But neither of the lifeguards looked judgmental. Instead they looked impressed.
‘You managed to stay out there for eight hours?’
‘Not by choice.’
‘I’d guess not,’ the older lifesaver said. ‘And not because of the fiancé left in England?’
‘Um… no.’
‘I thought you’d stick to the hotel pool,’ Riley said, and then a mum yelled from the end of the beach that her kid had his toe stuck between two rocks and the lifeguards left them to go and see.
‘More toe trouble?’ Pippa said, striving for casual. ‘You guys could start a collection.’
‘We try to keep them attached,’ Riley said. ‘There’s something a bit offputting about toes in specimen bottles. Even ones painted pink with stars. Are you okay?’
‘I… Yes.’ What else was a girl to say?
‘Nightmares?’ he asked, suddenly gentle. In doctor mode. Only he didn’t look anything like any doctor she’d ever met. Standing in the sun with water dripping across his eyes, his wet hair sort of flopping, his chest glistening…
Do not go there.
‘No,’ she managed, and was absurdly pleased that she’d got the word out.
‘How’s the cough? Mary says you’re booked at Outpatients this afternoon for a full check.’
‘Cough’s settled. I’m all better.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said. ‘How’s the heart?’
She knew what he meant. Cardiovascular concerns didn’t come into this. He was enquiring about Roger. ‘Happy,’ she said, a trifle defiantly.
‘Sure?’
‘I’m sure. I’m a bit humiliated but the honeymoon’s helping. Especially as Roger’s paying.’
‘Good ole Roger. Bride living it up at his expense. Is he back at the coal face, paying for it?’
‘Don’t you dare feel sorry for him,’ she snapped, and he grinned.
‘I never would. I’m on your side.’
‘Guys stick together.’
‘Not me. I stick with my patients.’
‘I’m not your patient,’ she said, and he nodded, thoughtful. ‘No. But you were.’
‘Meaning you have to be loyal.’
‘Meaning I can’t ask you out to dinner.’
That was one to take her breath away. She fought for a little composure. It took a while. The way he was making her feel… Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t be asked out to dinner.
‘So tell me about Amy,’ she said, because he didn’t seem to be making any move to leave, to walk away.
‘Patient confidentiality.’
‘You just told these guys I was the… what did you call me? Sunday night’s floater?’
‘That was a non-specific impression.’
‘So give me a non-specific impression of Amy.’
He hesitated. He shaded his eyes and watched the surf for a bit and she wondered if he’d gone too far already. She was, after all, his patient.
But he didn’t leave, and when he spoke his voice was low and lazy and she thought she was exaggerating her importance to him. He was simply s
ettling into his morning on the beach and wouldn’t be hurried.
‘Amy’s amazing,’ he said at last. ‘She deserves everything we can do for her and more. She’s the oldest of ten kids and she cares for them all. She’s bossy and smart and tough-she’ll fight for what she needs and I’ve seen her bloodied by it. Only we let her down. We thought of her as a kid. The nursing sister out where she comes from at Dry Gum Creek was gutted when she found out she was pregnant. Her mother would never have told her the facts and Riley junior is the result.’
‘So why is she here?’
‘We can’t deliver babies at Dry Gum-there’s no resident doctor. Normally we bring the mums here two weeks before their babies are due but Louise, our obstetrician, was concerned at Amy’s age. She thought she’d be better at the teen centre in Sydney. So we took her there but she ran away, here, where she knows me. Sensible or not, she trusts me and she made it here before the baby arrived. We can only be grateful she didn’t hitch a ride all the way back to Dry Gum.’
‘So now…’
‘We’ll probably take her home tomorrow.’
‘There’s no father?’
‘That comes within patient confidentiality.’
‘Of course.’ She hesitated. ‘Will you personally take her home?’
‘That’s what Flight-Aid does-when we’re not pulling maidens out of the water after eight-hour swims.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t mention it. If you know how good it felt to haul you up alive…’
‘If you knew how good it felt to be pulled up alive.’ She stared out to sea and thought of where she’d be if this man hadn’t found her. She shuddered.
Riley’s hand was suddenly on her shoulder, warm and strong and infinitely reassuring.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Yes, we hauled you up, but you did most of it yourself. In a couple of hours you’d probably have drifted into the next bay and been washed up on the beach. You’d have faced a long hike home but you would have lived happily ever after.’
‘We both know…’
‘No one knows anything for sure,’ he said. ‘I could have been hit by lightning right now, while I was surfing. Do I have nightmares because I almost was?’
‘There’s not a cloud.’
‘That’s the scariest thing,’ he said gravely. ‘There’s nothing else to pull lightning to except me. I feel all trembly thinking about how close a call I’ve just had.’
The Doctor & the Runaway Heiress Page 5
