A Month to Marry the Midwife

by Fiona McArthur

  Instead she went to the cupboard beside the door and took out a huge pair of black gumboots and a man’s raincoat. ‘These came with the house. You might still be able to salvage your loafers if you leave them to dry.’

  * * *

  Sam stood outside the hastily closed door, the wind buffeting him. He was mad. Obviously he still needed to feel as though he was protecting Ellie. Leftover from not protecting Bree, maybe? The wind tore at the belted raincoat and the splatter of needled rain hit his nose, and he turned his face to protect his eyes. This was dumb. Maybe they should have just let the windows blow in.

  A picture of Ellie in her rain-damaged room if that did happen made his feet move and he chose to start with the worst of them first—the windows that backed onto the cliff edge. Here the force of the gale was building and he moved into it out of the lee of the building, where the full force struck him and he staggered against the wall of the building on the little porch overlooking the ocean. Ellie was looking at him from the inside with absolute horror on her face. Great. Thanks. Very reassuring. He managed to keep his face calm.

  ‘Continue blowing me against the house,’ he muttered. ‘Happy with that.’ And he kept that picture of Ellie watching him through the window in his mind to keep out the one of him being sucked off the porch and over the cliff to his death.

  How had he got here? Right on the edge of a cliff in a cyclone, to be exact. Risking his life for a woman who wouldn’t let him close to her. Did he hope being the hero might work when everything else hadn’t?

  Not that she’d wanted him to be there, and it served him right, because now he was clinging for his life, shutting oil-bereft hinges on shutters that should have been closed hours ago.

  When he’d said he was more worried she would do it herself, he’d been one hundred percent telling the truth. It was that thought that drove him like a machine, unclipping, manhandling and latching each shutter closed until he was back at the side door.

  He couldn’t quite believe he’d been all the way around the house. It had been a real struggle, and by the end, when the wind had built to almost twice the strength from when he started, he knew Ellie would not have been able to do it.

  When he fell into the room and the door was shut, he stopped. He was dripping, gasping for breath, his face stinging from the lash of the rain, back on secure footing and out of the wind into the calm of another world. Now he felt as if...he’d come home.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE ROOM WAS lit rosily. The fire Ellie kept mostly for decoration was burning merrily and Millicent was lying in front of it washing her paws. The cat barely glanced at him, she was so intent on her ablutions. It’s okay. I saved you, cat.

  But Ellie stared. Her worried face was pale, deathly pale, and he remembered the time she’d fainted, but then she flew across the room and smashed into him. She was pulling at his coat, helping him get out of his boots and then hugging him. And she buried her beautiful head in his chest. Okay. This was nice.

  ‘That was...was dangerous. Don’t do that again. I had no idea it would blow up that strong. I should never have let...’ She was whispering and gabbling, Sam couldn’t help thinking to himself it had all been very worth it, then, and the only way to stop her seemed perfectly reasonable to him.

  He kissed her.

  * * *

  Sam kissed her. It was a short, cold, hard kiss, then another slower one, as if he needed to do it again, in case she’d missed the first one. She hadn’t missed it. Then he hugged her. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine.’ He spoke quietly into her hair as if she needed comfort. Darn right she needed comfort.

  He tasted like the storm. It was different from the kiss they’d shared at lunch that day. Ellie hugged the wet coldness of his skin close to her. He buried her face in his damp chest, inhaling the strong scent of the sea, his aftershave and the briny tang of a man who had struggled against nature and won. For her.

  He could have been blown off the cliff and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything to help him. She should have gone with him, watched him, held a rope or something... It hadn’t sunk into her how dangerous it was until she’d seen Sam battling to stay upright through the balcony’s glass doors. She’d been so frightened for him. She’d never experienced wind like that before and even now her heart thumped at the memory.

  In fact, she’d never seen someone so close to death before and that it was lovely Sam, who’d only wanted to help her, seemed ironically tragic. And she was so hard on him.

  When he’d safely traversed the more dangerous face of the building she’d run around lighting candles and lighting the old fuel stove that always sat with kindling waiting in the corner of the kitchen alcove in case of blackouts. She’d set the old kettle on to heat water.

  He put her away from him. ‘You’ll get wet. Wait until I dry and then you can cuddle me.’

  She half laughed, half sobbed. ‘Sorry. I got a bit emotional.’ She scurried away, grabbed a towel and handed it to him. ‘That was terrifying, watching you out there.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said and rubbed his hair. ‘It was a lot worse from where I was.’ He dabbed around his neck and handed back the towel. Smiled at her. ‘All good. Done now.’ He glanced around and she saw the approval. ‘This looks nice. Can I stay till the storm blows out?’

  She looked at him. Tall. Tousled. Ridiculously handsome, yet reassuring too. The full package. Obviously he cared about her, and she wasn’t stupid...she knew he fancied her. Well, heck, she fancied him too, if she was honest with herself, despite all her kicking and screaming. And he was only here for another two weeks so it wouldn’t be a long-term commitment.

  The wind howled and continued to build outside. ‘I suppose I can’t throw you out now,’ she agreed a little breathlessly, happy to play down the tension of the last few minutes while he’d been outside. That had been horrible.

  She remembered his car. ‘Though I’m not sure how happy your lovely car will be out there with all the debris flying round.’

  ‘There are probably less branches up here than down in the town. I’m not worried. Plus, it’s there if I get called out.’

  Despite the fact every birth helped her numbers and the overall viability of her plans for the hospital, she actually preferred the idea that he would not be called out. Please.

  Ellie looked across at the stove and saw the kettle wasn’t even steaming yet. ‘Are you cold? I’ve got the kettle on. The good news is I have pasta already cooked, and can just transfer it to an earthen dish and pop it in the fuel stove to reheat.’

  He frowned. ‘I’ve landed myself on you for dinner. I should have brought something.’

  ‘You brought lunch the other day.’ And yourself tonight. Her turn to look around the softly lit room. At the fire crackling. The candles. She’d pretended to herself she’d only set them because Sam had suggested them. But there was no denying the soft light added to the ambience. ‘Even if the power comes on, now that I’m sorted, I like the power off.’

  She suddenly felt quite calm that Sam was here. Felt strangely peaceful now she’d accepted she was attracted to him, but somehow because of the wind and the fact they were battened down here like a ship at sea in a storm it was bizarrely safe to allow herself the luxury, because it was done. He was here. She even walked across and turned off the television so it didn’t blare at them in a surge when they were reconnected. She remembered the light switch and did the same to that.

  It was as if some other Ellie had morphed from her body and evicted the prickly one. ‘The refrigerator will make a noise when the power comes back on. That’s enough to wake the dead.’ The other Ellie sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside her. ‘Sit down. Rest after your efforts. Relax.’ Then she thought of something. ‘I’ve got a question.’ It was a silly question but it had been bugging her.

  He sat down
next to her, right next to her, his hip touching hers, and the sofa creaked with his weight. He was warm, so the coat must have worked well or he had a really good reheating system. Her mind took a little wander and she imagined what it would feel like to have a lot more of Sam’s skin against hers. She wondered how much heat they could generate together. How his skin would feel? She knew from the solid impact they’d just shared, when she’d thrown herself at him like a maniac when he’d come in, that his body would be rock-solid under her hands. Her face heated and she hurriedly diverted her mad mind. The question. Yes.

  After a sideways glance, Ellie decided he looked a little wary and, considering some of the questions she’d asked him, she wasn’t surprised.

  ‘I just wanted to know who taught you to make a bed with hospital corners.’

  He laughed. His look said, Is that all? ‘My mother. She was a matron, like you,’ he teased. ‘Met and married my dad late in life and brought us up to be “useful”, as well as doctors. My sister and I were the only ones at med school who made their beds with hospital corners. We had a great childhood.’

  Ellie knew his dad was a widower. ‘Where is your sister now?’

  His answer was easy and affectionate. ‘In Italy. Doing a term of obstetrics in Rome.’ Ellie could see they were still close. ‘She’s a workaholic.’

  ‘Imagine. Another person striving for further knowledge.’ She thought of his father. ‘And your dad doesn’t think of retirement? Don’t you people have holidays?’

  He shrugged. ‘Every year when we were kids. My parents always loved the sea, so we spent summer holidays there. Christmas at whatever beach house they’d rented for the New Year. But we always had to make our own beds.’ He smiled at the memories. ‘Mum and Dad adored each other until she passed away ten years ago.’

  The sadness was tinged with wonderful memories. Ellie wished she had more memories of her mother. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I knew your dad was a widower.’

  He smiled gently at her. ‘Dad’s been surfing ever since. Says it’s when he feels happiest.’

  Sam’s smile wasn’t melancholy, so she shouldn’t be. ‘That makes sense. He always had a smile on his face when he came in after being in the ocean.’

  ‘So, that’s my story.’ He turned fully to face her. ‘You owe me a little about your life, don’t you think?’

  ‘Mine’s boringly tragic. As you know from my nightmares, Mum died when I was six. My dad brought me up. He never married again, though I had a nice auntie.’

  She smiled at him. ‘A real auntie—Dad’s sister. I’d go for holidays with my Aunty Dell. She was an Outback nurse and I visited her in whatever little hospital she was working at. That was when I was happiest. I admired her so much that nursing and midwifery were the natural way for me to go. We’ve done a few emergency births together. She can do everything.’

  He was watching her and she suddenly felt a little shy at being under such scrutiny. Wayne had asked questions about her early in their relationship, but once he’d established nobody was going to rescue her he’d stopped hearing her answers. It was something she’d missed early on and should have realised it was a danger sign.

  Sam’s voice brought her back and she wanted to shake off the sudden darkness that had come with thoughts of Wayne. Sam wasn’t pretending interest. He was interested. ‘So, no brothers or sisters?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nope.’

  ‘And where’s Aunty Dell now?’

  Aunty Dell. For her, Ellie could smile. ‘Kununurra. She’s slowly moving around the top of Western Australia in her mobile home.’

  His voice had softened. ‘So no rowdy family Christmases for you?’ Wayne had played on her need for ‘jolly family time’, and she knew it with a bitterness that stung.

  Sam’s face was sympathetic but she couldn’t help her reaction. It erupted like a little volcano of hurt. ‘Don’t pity me. I’ve had lots of lovely Christmases at work. Making it special for people who find themselves away from home.’

  Sam’s expression didn’t change and she took a quick breath to calm herself—remind herself this was Sam, not Wayne—and felt a little ashamed of her outburst.

  He said, ‘That was empathy, not pity. I can see you have a thing about pity. There’s a difference. What I’d really like to know about is the relationship that’s made you so bitter and prickly. It obviously didn’t work out.’

  Wayne hadn’t been a relationship. He’d been a debilitating illness that had almost become terminal. The kettle began to sing and she heard it with relief. ‘No. My relationship didn’t work out.’ The old Ellie was back and she stood up. ‘I’ll make a hot drink. Would you like tea, coffee or hot chocolate?’

  He put his hand on her arm. ‘Do you know what I’d really like? More than a hot drink?’

  The kettle sang louder. ‘What?’

  Sam seemed oblivious to the noise. ‘To hear about that time in your life that still affects you so much now.’

  She looked down at him. Nope. She couldn’t do that. She knew what would happen. Talking about Wayne and the loss of her innocence, the tearing down of her dreams, the descent into abuse she’d suffered, would spoil what she had here with Sam. Tonight couldn’t be the start of a long-term thing but it was special. She wouldn’t infect this moment with the past.

  This thing with Sam, this fledgling, careful awareness that she was only just allowing into her world along with Sam, was too precious. Too easily damaged. ‘How about you talk about your marriage first?’

  ‘Touché.’ He grimaced. She read it in his face. He knew analysing his past would harm what they had as well. ‘Let’s have hot chocolate instead.’

  * * *

  Sam sipped his hot chocolate. The fire flickered, the woman who had attracted him crazily for the first time in years sat beside him, while a big black cat purred against his side. A hell of a lot different from work, work, work. It was probably the most peaceful evening he’d spent since well before Bree’s death, which was crazy, considering the tempest outside. But since he’d closed the shutters they were locked in an impervious cave, immune to the elements. There was just the rattle of rain on the roof and the background thrum of the ocean crashing on the cliffs below joining with it to make a symphony rather than a discordant refrain.

  The candles flickered and as far as he was concerned Ellie looked like an angel, her cheeks slightly pink as she laughed about the time when Jeff, the lifesaver and prawn-trawler captain, the meanest, toughest guy in town, had fainted at his wife giving birth.

  She turned to look at him. ‘You must have had funny things happen in your work?’

  ‘Not often.’ Or maybe he’d lost his sense of humour so long ago that he’d missed the occasions. He hadn’t smiled as much as he had since he’d arrived here. He wondered if it was the place or the woman beside him. He suspected it was the latter and marvelled that one person could turn his thoughts around so swiftly.

  It was almost as if, the first time he’d seen her, she’d magically switched on his party lights.

  She nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Come on. Something funny must have happened at your work!’

  He pretended to sigh. ‘Very recently I was called into a birth centre and the husband was stark, staring naked in the shower with his wife and two sons while she pushed the baby out. They were from a nudist colony.’

  He could tell she was trying not to laugh but he suspected it was more at his horror than the picture he painted.

  She pursed her lips in mock shock. ‘What about the midwife?’

  He looked sternly at her. ‘She was dressed. Thank goodness.’

  She let go and laughed. ‘You’re a prude. I’m guessing if they’d had a home birth the midwife from their colony would have been naked. Birth is such an important event that, if your belief system celebrates the naked body, I can
see why they would want to be naked for it.’

  He’d started the story to make her smile but she made him think more about the people, not the events. It was something he’d had trouble doing at the time and now he felt slightly ashamed. ‘I’m not really complaining. The mother had had a previous caesarean, which ruled out a home birth, and they were “reclaiming her birthing ability”.’

  She tilted her head and looked at him. ‘It’s pretty cool you get that.’

  He grimaced. ‘I didn’t get it.’ He shook his head. He couldn’t take credit when it wasn’t due. ‘I’m repeating what the midwife told me when she saw my face.’

  Her gaze softened. ‘But you get it now. I can see that.’

  More than that had shifted since he’d come here. ‘I think so.’

  He tried to explain. ‘I’ve been living a very narrow existence since Bree died. Concentrating on the end goal, which is my research on extreme premature labour. And, although it’s too late to save Bree or our babies, maybe I could save other babies and somehow she’d know I was still trying.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been avoiding where possible the more emotive and connecting aspects of my work. My father saw how distanced from people I was becoming so it’s not surprising he saw this place as a change of scene for me.’ He glanced at her ruefully. ‘A chance to try to jolt me out of it.’

  ‘And have we jolted you out of it?’

  You have, he thought, but he didn’t say it. He let his gaze drift around the candlelit room. Somehow it was easier to talk about it here, now, in the quiet, with just the two of them. ‘I feel different. Even that first fast birth in the first half-hour here, with Josie and John. I felt connected. Involved. Not a separate watcher who only stepped in as needed.’ He grimaced. ‘I even recall their names.’ To his shame he hadn’t been able to do that for far too long.

  He could see she remembered the moment. He wasn’t surprised she smiled at the memory. ‘You were needed.’