And he did need something to do.
* * *
Emma had sent her patient up to Maternity, put staples into the split head of a teenager, and dug a bead from the nose of a kindergarten kid.
Deciding, as she wasn’t supposed to be on duty that day, she could have a cup of tea, she escaped to the tea-room, desperate to have a think.
Why hadn’t it occurred to her earlier?
Why did she have to wait until a pregnant teenager came in before she considered her own situation, and the fact that she’d had unprotected sex with the one man in the world she shouldn’t have?
But her mind grew cloudy so thinking of the possible consequences got muddled up with the remembered warmth—no, heat—the act had brought with it.
She made a mug of tea, grabbed a couple of biscuits from the never-empty tin, and sat down to muse.
Well, to think really, mostly about consequences of actions, but there was more musing than thinking going on.
Marty’s arrival put paid to both. Her mind went blank and she could only stare at him.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said, and she recovered enough to point out, ‘Neither should you.’
Then he was sitting on the sofa beside her, close but not too close—annoyingly not too close, but she wouldn’t think about that either.
‘Oh, Em,’ he said, and even the shortening of her name made her feel warm. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, I didn’t ask—Hell, what if—?’
She put her hand on his knee, wishing he was closer, knowing the wish was stupid.
‘It’s as much my fault as yours, and it’s highly unlikely that there’ll be any fallout so don’t worry about it.’
‘Not worry about it?’
His voice had risen and she touched her finger to his lips to hush him, then grew hot and breathless as he slid his tongue along it and closed his lips against the tip, sucking it gently.
It took a mammoth effort but she finally removed it.
‘We can’t do this,’ she said, and if she sounded desperate, well, that was just how she felt.
He shifted, nodded, shrugged, stood up, then reached down to touch her cheek.
‘You will tell me if you’re pregnant,’ he said, his voice harsh with an emotion she couldn’t read.
She nodded, not at all sure she would.
If it happened, and that was one huge if, she’d think about it then—think about what was to be done, what would be the best way forward. But not today. It would be like when Simon had been dying and she would only let herself think of one day at a time.
Although that had been totally different—back then it had been death she’d been desperately trying to hold off.
But life?
A new life?
She had no idea how she’d feel about that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EMMA HAD PUT the possibility of being pregnant completely out of her mind, and tried, unsuccessfully, to do the same with Marty.
He seemed to be around more than usual, bobbing up in the tea-room at unexpected times, coming in with a patient when usually Mark and Dave would bring them in.
So, a week or two later, when she heard the helicopter fly over—its distinctive noise far too recognisable by now—she fully expected to see him when it returned. The gossip in A and E was something about a road giving way—the result of the rain they’d had during the week after the bushfires causing a landslide effect.
She was hearing snippets of theories about why this sometimes happened, but not really taking much notice as it was a busy morning.
Until Mark walked in, with a list of equipment and drugs needed for restocking.
‘You not on the chopper for the landslide mission?’ she asked.
‘Kicked off by Marty,’ he said. ‘Matt’s flying, and Dave will act as winch man. Marty wants to go down.’
‘Marty wants to go down?’ Emma repeated the words as ice-cold fear swept through her body.
‘He’s still a qualified paramedic—jolly good one too—but he knew he was a better pilot than anyone else around here when we first got the chopper, so he took it on.’
‘But why would he choose to go down now?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer.
The rescue must be tricky, probably dangerous, and knowing Marty now, she also knew he wouldn’t let his crew put their lives at risk.
And definitely not crew with families.
‘Where is it? What’s happened?’ she demanded of Mark, when he’d ignored her first question.
‘Out on an old timber road. Some new folks have recently bought a property out that way and want to turn it into a holiday camp for children—you know, farm animals and horse riding and milking cows.’
But Emma couldn’t care less about the cows right now, or the new people.
‘Apparently,’ Mark continued, ‘Pop was taking out a load of cattle for them. These days he only does the odd job like a small mob of cattle, or sometimes in his covered trailer a load of furniture for someone. As far as I know, the road slid out from under his cabin in the prime mover and he’s stuck there, with the cabin of the prime mover balanced over the edge of the slide, the trailer weight and cattle the only thing holding it from plunging down the slope.’
Mark was still talking but somehow Emma’s mind had stopped at the word ‘Pop’. That’s why Marty was going down the wire. Of course he would, with Pop in danger.
She had to be there.
Had to be sure he was safe...
She looked frantically around the ER—not busy but it could be any moment. She checked her watch. Still an hour before she was off duty. She checked the rosters. Paul was taking over from her and she knew, since his return to full-time work, he was always looking for overtime.
She phoned him, told him what was happening, and although she had no way to explain why she needed to be at the accident, he seemed pleased enough to cover for her.
‘Be there in ten,’ he said, and she blessed the closeness of everything in the small town.
By the time he arrived she’d found out exactly where the landslide had occurred and how to get there.
She raced home and was thankful to see their car was out front. Dad and the kids were probably down at the park. Once inside, she wrote a note explaining where she’d be, changed into jeans and boots, a tough checked shirt, and headed off towards the collapsed road.
She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, because onlookers—and that’s all she’d be—were a nuisance at any accident, to say nothing of what havoc vehicles could cause on an already weakened road.
A police car blocked the road long before she could see anything, except the helicopter hovering above the trees further ahead.
‘You can’t go further, miss,’ the policeman told her.
Emma hesitated for a second, then told her lie—a small lie but a lie nonetheless.
‘I’m a doctor, I was told I might be needed.’
‘You’ll have to walk and it’s a good mile, uphill most of the way.’
As if that mattered. She just had to be there.
She thanked the man, then, sneaking past, off the road now and through the bush above it, she eventually saw the back of Pop’s truck.
But the scene that eventually met her eyes was horrifying.
The cabin of the vehicle hung precariously, tilted downwards, over nothingness. The cattle in the trailer were restless, and getting increasingly so, making the prime mover shake, but it was obvious to Emma that if they were removed, the loss of their weight would send the whole thing plunging into the gully.
As well as police cars and fire service vehicles closer to the accident, she saw a large crane, although that had apparently been stopped from moving closer for fear its weight would make things on the unstable road worse. Men were uncoiling a thic
k wire from the crane, maybe intending to hook it to the rear of the truck as extra anchoring weight.
But more horrifying than all of it—the dangling truck, the increasingly restless cattle—was the sight of Marty, in his flight suit, half in and half out of the cabin.
Emma crept closer, unable to stop herself, willing the man she loved—yes, okay, that was finally sorted out—to stay safe.
Was Pop wedged in there somehow that it was taking so long to get him out?
A rumble beneath her feet gave warning that time was running out, and the rest of the road was about to follow the earlier slide into the gully. She could hear Marty’s voice but it was too muffled to hear the words, so she stood, hands clasped tightly, lips firmly shut so she didn’t make a noise and distract him.
* * *
Reaching Pop had been no trouble at all. Matt was holding the hover well, and he, Marty, had missed the worst of the tall timber branches on the way down but now Marty couldn’t work out how to extricate his father.
He’d leaned far enough in to release his seatbelt, but the old man—his dearly loved Pop—was only semi-conscious—shock possibly—and could do little to help.
Trapped as he was in the cabin, there was no way Marty could get a strop around him, so it would have to be a manual lift. The problem was, the door was jammed so it meant hauling a solidly built, seventy-something-year-old man through the window.
And a dead weight at that.
If he got a firm hold on Pop, and asked them to unload the cattle, the truck would plunge down the gully, and he could lift Pop free as it fell.
Or, and it was a big or, the combined weight of himself, Pop and the truck could pull the helicopter down with it, crashing it into the trees.
Couldn’t risk it.
He kicked at the door, more in frustration than in hope he might shift it, and to his surprise it flew open, Pop tumbling out.
Dave on the winch must have seen what had happened and dropped Marty lower, so he was able to grab at the only father he’d ever really known and hang on tight, wrapping his arms and his legs around Pop’s unresponsive body.
He signaled to lift, and as they rose said to Pop, ‘If you can, hang onto me, that way we’ll be doubly safe.’
But shock and maybe a head knock when the cabin tilted had the old man out cold.
They rose slowly with the double weight, the wire twisting so Marty thought he caught a glimpse of Emma by the roadside.
He couldn’t look again, his full attention needed to get Pop to safety. Then Dave was there to haul them up onto the skids, checking Marty was okay before dragging Pop into the chopper.
Marty crawled in himself, unhooking from the winch wire, fingers trembling now he realised just how close run it had been, his body shaking from the strain of the lift.
Below them they could see the cattle being unloaded, then hear, above the engine noise, the roar as the land beneath the road plunged into the gully.
He strapped in and sat there, trying hard to quell his tremors, while Dave settled Pop on the stretcher, the old man now awake and complaining that he was perfectly well and didn’t need Dave’s fussing.
But Marty was trying to remember what he’d seen. It couldn’t have been Emma.
Could it?
Or had he conjured her up because he’d been thinking of her—thinking of Pop, of fatherhood, and right along that train of thought to Emma and the boys.
* * *
With relief battling rage within her, Emma drove back to town as fast as she dared on the winding mountain road.
Hospital or base?
Surely they’d take Pop to the hospital to have him checked over, although she knew Marty would prefer the base, where he could see to the old man himself.
The chopper was so far in front of her when she cleared the trees she couldn’t see it, but decided to go straight to the base.
And there he was, helping Pop down out of the side door, steadying him as they walked across to the hut, talking, talking—probably questioning him about how he felt.
Emma stayed in the car and waited, aware she didn’t belong here—shouldn’t be here—should be anywhere but here, really...
But she had to see him, touch him, make sure he was all right, so there she stayed.
He must have seen the car for eventually he walked towards it. She got out as he drew nearer, knowing the metal walls around her weren’t enough to contain her rage.
‘Emma, what are you—?’
‘What in heaven’s name did you think you were doing?’ she yelled at him, before he had time to complete his question. ‘You could have been killed! Eventually they’d have got a wire attached to the back of the truck and hauled it backwards, there was no need for you to put your life in danger like that. You frightened me to death.’
‘Or the road could have given way first,’ he said quietly, touching her shoulder.
One touch and the rage abated, leaving her feeling so weak she wanted—no, needed—to lean against him, to feel him against her, to be one with him as surely they were meant to be.
And perhaps he felt the same as he folded his arms around her, held her close, dropping kisses on the top of her head.
‘I’m sorry you were frightened,’ he murmured, ‘but...’
He paused and moved a little away from her, one finger tilting her chin so he could look into her face.
‘But how could I expect you to accept me as a father to your children if I could not save my own father?’
She pulled away from him, anger rising again within her.
Anger and something else.
Hope?
‘What did you say?’ she demanded, looking into the blue eyes she knew so well.
Smiling now, though warily...
‘I’m asking you to marry me—if you’ll have me. Asking because I love you—I think I’ve loved you from the day we met. But I was so hung up on the past, on my birth father, I resisted it with all my strength, but I can’t resist it now. You were right, Pop’s my real father, and a better role model no man could ever have. I realised that today when I thought I might lose him. And if I lost him, would I lose you? Or would you marry me out of pity? So many thoughts, Em, but all of them of love.’
He paused, then added, fairly tentatively for someone who’d been talking non-stop, ‘Will you marry me?’
Emma stared at him, trying desperately to assimilate all she’d heard, but the only words that meant something were the early ones, the ‘I love you’ ones. Words she’d never expected, hardly even dared hope she’d hear on Marty’s lips.
She smiled and shook her head, and had moved closer to kiss him when her head shake obviously bothered him.
‘You’re saying no?’
‘That was disbelief,’ she said, smiling as she put her arms around him. ‘Disbelief that you’d love me when I’ve only recently realised just how much I love you. I was so afraid, you see. Afraid of love—of loving again. I thought if I made it all about the boys...’
‘It wouldn’t hurt?’ he whispered.
And he held her close again, so they only broke apart at heavy footsteps approaching, and Pop’s gruff voice saying, ‘If it’s all the same to you two, I’d like to get home sometime today. Hallie will be worrying.’
‘You can’t go home!’ They spoke together, then Marty took Emma’s hand and he said, ‘You need to go to the hospital to be checked out, probably kept in for a while in case you have concussion. We’ll take you there.’
‘Hmph!’ Pop said, looking at the pair of them hand in hand in front of him. ‘Hallie reckoned this would happen. I just hoped you wouldn’t be so stubborn as to not see what a gem you’ll have in Emma.’
He smiled at Emma then leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
‘He gives you any trouble, my girl, you come straight to me. I’v
e been sorting him out anytime these past thirty years!’
And Emma laughed, and hugged the man who was to become her father-in-law, then Marty took her hand and they headed for her car.
In the end, she dropped them both off at the hospital and went home to tell her father what was happening—and to ask about the woman in the photo.
‘That’s your great-aunt,’ he said. ‘The woman who left us the house.’
‘Do you know her story? Did she ever marry?’
Her father frowned, thinking back.
‘No, she didn’t, but I seem to remember there was a man, someone who felt he wasn’t right for her.’
‘No wonder her eyes look so sad,’ she said, thinking how close she’d come to having that same sadness in her eyes.
When Marty arrived, determined, it appeared, to ask her father’s permission for her hand, she waited until the excitement was all over and they were sitting on the veranda on their own.
She showed him the two photos, and told him the story.
‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘To think that could have been us if I hadn’t finally come to my senses.’
Emma laughed.
‘It wouldn’t have been us,’ she said. ‘You once told me I should want a man for myself, not just for the boys, and it took me a little while to accept that. Until I realised that, more than anything, I only wanted—still want, and will always want—you.’
He kissed her then and she relaxed into the kiss, glad they’d not only found each other but had finally found their way to love.
EPILOGUE
THE WHOLE FAMILY was gathered, Lila and Tariq flying in laden with gifts for everyone, Steve and Fran were up from Sydney with their baby Chloe, Carrie and the twins, all three looking beautiful, Izzy and Mac, with George, usually held in Nikki’s arms, the centre of much attention as the very latest addition to the family.
Emma and Marty had decided, after much deliberation, to hold the celebration at the old nunnery where the Halliday family—as the locals called them—had grown up.
And there were dozens of them, all present to see the last of the brood safely married off.
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