by Amy Andrews
Two weeks after she’d left the farm in an ambulance, Elsie arrived back—even if it was just for the day. Helen, Denise and Duncan had gone all out, the homestead was decked out in balloons and streamers and all the old gumtrees sported yellow ribbons. Elsie was going to get a party to remember!
As they drove Elsie out to the farm James marvelled with her how much the landscape had been transformed by the rain. Water lay everywhere. Every depression was now a puddle or a small pond. The river that the highway out of Skye passed over, which had been no more than a muddy pond when he’d arrived, now ran so vigorously beneath the bridge that James felt sure he could lean over the railing and touch it.
The entire population of Skye clapped as Helen pulled up in the car and Alf hurried forward to help Elsie from the vehicle. The township had laid on quite a spread and Elsie beamed with joy at everyone as she sat in her wheel-chair like a queen receiving foreign dignitaries.
A marquee had been set up in the back yard and people mingled in small groups all happy to still have Elsie around for another birthday. Children darted in and out of the groups and Elsie clapped excitedly at their squeals of delight.
The rain had stopped momentarily and a few meek rays of sunlight pushed through the leaden sky. A brilliant rainbow shone over the farm and raindrops dripped from leaves and flowers and clung to spider webs.
James watched the scene as only a newcomer could. The dynamics of the town were fascinating and no more evident than at a celebration. He kept an eye on Helen as he mingled. She was wearing a black and white dress that clung in all the right places and he’d thought nothing but indecent thoughts ever since she’d put it on. Her hair was caught back in its usual ponytail and he itched to pull it out and let it tumble to her shoulders.
He’d been standing for an hour, leaning on his crutches, and his leg was starting to ache a little. Three weeks down the track the pain was non-existent for the most part. But if he stood for long periods of time it niggled away, letting him know he should sit down and put it up.
He felt a familiar well of frustration rise inside him. The leg had well and truly grounded him in Skye. Not that it had been a particular hardship but he’d never gone a month without riding his bike before and he could feel the gypsy in him urging him on.
He was impatient to get out and see some of the surrounding countryside. There were supposed to be some great thermal springs nearby and he yearned for a night under the stars with the crackle of a campfire keeping him company.
Helen had offered to take him sightseeing but he had declined. He wanted to be on his bike, the wind in his face. It gave him such a different perspective to being cooped up in a car. He really wanted to witness firsthand the transformation of the scenery with the recent rain.
As soon as the cast came off he was heading out. He hadn’t used his camera in over a month and he knew he’d get some spectacular shots of the land metamorphosing from brown to green. From slow death to vibrant life.
James wandered away from the groups of chatting locals. His crutches sank into the soaked grass, making his progress a little slower. The noise slowly receded as he made his way around the side of the low-set house and disappeared altogether as he reached the front.
He spotted a couple of chairs adorning the front patio and he gratefully lowered himself into one and propped his cast up on the other. He shut his eyes and sighed as the niggle eased immediately.
He opened his eyes and they came back into slow focus on the pond that dominated the circular driveway. He had commented to Helen on the way past today that he hadn’t remembered seeing it the night of Elsie’s stroke.
‘You didn’t,’ she’d said.
She’d explained that years ago, back in its heyday, even before Elsie’s time, the farm had had a large fountain adorning the entrance. After a series of hard-hitting droughts it had been deemed to be a waste of water and dug out. The intention had been to fill the hole in but generations of farm kids had used it to play in and it had been everything from a sandpit to a racetrack for toy cars.
Duncan’s boys had a very elaborate system of jumps set up within it. Its depth and width and sloping sides made it perfect for them to practise their skateboard skills. But with the recent rain it had filled to overflowing and the only things benefiting from it at the moment were the ducks.
James’s gaze settled on an object in the middle. It was white and quite bulky. It took a few seconds for his brain to work out what it was. A sick feeling washed through him and he stood abruptly as he realised. It was clothing. It was a person. Floating face down.
His heart thundered as his powerful arms propelled the crutches back and forth, back and forth. The wet ground grabbed at the rubber stoppers. How long had the person been immersed? As he drew closer he could see it was a child. How long? How long? Was it too late?
He reached the edge and threw his crutches to the ground, balancing on one leg. He looked down at the cast and knew it was about to become soaked and useless. He heard a noise behind him and he looked back. It was Duncan’s twelve-year-old son.
‘There’s a kid fallen in the pond!’ he yelled. ‘Get Helen! Get Tom!’
James didn’t stop to see if Cameron had obeyed him. He turned straight back to the water and hobbled in. On his stomach his hands could just reach the murky bottom and he propelled himself along, reaching the floating child in seconds.
He turned the little boy over and dragged him back to the edge. He could feel dampness permeating his cast and his leg weighed a ton. He felt frustrated he couldn’t easily lift the child from the water and stagger out. He couldn’t properly bear weight on his leg so he had to place the child on the ground and half crawl, half drag himself out.
The boy looked about five. His lips were blue, he was cold. James knew everything depended on quick and vigorous resuscitation and how long the child had been not breathing and without a pulse.
James ignored the pounding of his heart and the possibility that he was too late and found the calmness inside that honed his thought processes and sharpened his skills. Lying on his stomach, he grasped the boy’s chin, pinched his nose and administered a gentle puff into his mouth.
‘James!’
He heard Helen calling him, was conscious of shouts and people coming closer.
‘Oh, God, its Josh, Alf’s grandson. What happened?’ Helen asked, throwing herself on the ground next to him. Josh was always in some scrape or other. He had a fairly thick chart back at the surgery to prove it. But this was extreme even for Josh.
‘Don’t know. I found him floating in the pond,’ he said between puffs. ‘Do compressions.’
Helen’s hand shook as she ripped opened Josh’s sodden shirt and performed quick compressions.
‘Where’s Tom? We need his kit.’
‘He’s gone for it,’ Helen said.
James could hear a woman sobbing hysterically and guessed it was Josh’s mother. She was desperately trying to get to him and people were holding her back so they could work. He tuned her out.
Helen could feel how cold Josh’s skin was and knew they stood a better chance of resuscitating him if he was warmer. ‘Denise, we need towels and blankets,’ she said, not looking up from her task.
‘How long’s he been missing—does anyone know?’ James asked Helen.
‘Val thinks only a few minutes at the most.’
James nodded and puffed in more air. He hoped so. The shorter the time in the water, the better his chances. Come on, Josh, breathe damn it.
Just as Tom arrived and threw his kit on the ground beside them Josh started to dry-retch and then to cough. A stream of dirty water fountained from his mouth and seeped out of his nose. Helen and James rolled him quickly on his side. Josh took a couple of deep breaths and then opened his mouth and cried a long lusty cry.
The collective sigh of relief from the crowd was audible. Val was released and she threw herself down on the ground and scooped a bawling Josh up into her arms. Denise arrived bac
k and threw a blanket around the bewildered child and the sobbing mother.
James felt his shoulders sag as the tension ebbed. He was still lying on his stomach and he dropped his head momentarily, feeling relief wash through his system.
Helen felt a surge of relief swamp her, too, and looked down to where James was lying. The dark wavy hair on his downcast head tempted her and she didn’t bother to stop the urge that overcame her. He’d just saved a child’s life. She ran her fingers through his glorious waves. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
James felt his scalp tingle as her fingernails grated erotically. He took a deep breath and raised his head, displacing her hand. ‘I am now.’
She nodded and they smiled huge relieved smiles at each other. ‘Come on.’ She stood and picked up his discarded crutches from the ground, her dress wet and muddy. ‘You’re muddy, soaked and your cast is useless. You’re going to need another one.’
He rolled on his back and sat up. Several of the men from the assembled crowd came forward and pulled him to a standing position.
There was much congratulating, backslapping and tearful cheek-kissing. Helen slipped him his crutches and then stood aside and watched a bemused James accept the thanks of the people of Skye.
‘A hero. A bloody hero,’ a choked-up Alf said as he vigorously shook James’s hand.
Helen returned her attention to a mollified Josh. Tom had some oxygen running and was advising Val to take Josh to the hospital for a once-over. Helen supported Tom and Val agreed reluctantly. Helen could tell she wasn’t going to let Josh out of her arms or sight for a very long time.
She glanced back at James. He was wet and muddy, his hair hanging in scraggily strips. But he was laughing at something Alf said and his dimple winked at her. His broad shoulders, flat stomach and slim hips clearly visible through his sodden clothes made her stomach muscles clench. And he had saved a little boy’s life. And, damn it all, if it didn’t look like he belonged here. He looked for all the world like he was one of them.
‘All right, everybody, break it up, enough of the hero-worship. He won’t be able to get his head through the door.’
There was general laughter and the crowd broke up. ‘You’ve blown it now. They’re never going to let you leave,’ she said, watching the retreating backs of the towns-folk.
He chuckled. Somehow the thought didn’t bother him so much. Maybe it was the elation of a good outcome or maybe it was her standing before him, mud on her dress, hair escaping her prim ponytail. But he had a real sense of home, of belonging for the first time in his life. ‘There are worse things.’
She could see the heat in his turquoise gaze and suddenly she was back on the kitchen bench, her legs wrapped around his waist.
‘Remind me of that when there’s no more room in the fridge come tomorrow.’
He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Skye likes to feed its heroes.’
He grinned. ‘Just as well I have a good appetite.’
She curled her fingers into her palms as reminders of his appetite scorched her insides. She forced her legs to move. ‘Come on, then, hero. There’s a plaster saw somewhere with your name on it.’
He turned and watched her walk away, the two muddy patches covering her rear swaying hypnotically. He felt more than a little turned on at the thought of her packing a power tool.
He so liked a woman who was into DIY.
CHAPTER SIX
HELEN and James didn’t bother shopping or cooking for the next two weeks. As she had expected, the good people of Skye had provided. A steady stream of gourmet dishes arrived morning and night. James flattered each offering and its bearer outrageously as they arrived and earned himself an even more elevated status in the community.
‘You are shameless,’ Helen said, shaking her head after she’d watched him flirt with Lola from the post office one morning.
James held the apple pie up to his face and inhaled the just-out-of-the-oven aroma. ‘The least I can do is show my appreciation for such generosity,’ he said with faux injured innocence.
‘Appreciation? Lola practically melted into a puddle at your feet.’
He grinned. ‘Is there something wrong with making a woman feel good about herself?’
His dimple taunted her and she rolled her eyes.
‘What?’ He chuckled. ‘Can I help it if I have a way with women?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ she teased. ‘You’ve got the grandmothers eating out of your hand.’
James remembered the heat of her mouth against his. Not just the grandmothers. He smiled. ‘I seem to recall a certain registered nurse who had a little trouble keeping her hands off me.’
Helen’s breath stopped in her throat at his cheeky reminder. Her thoughts froze. It took a second for her higher functions to return. ‘A temporary aberration, I can assure you. Your charm may have every woman with a pulse in Skye all aflutter but you can save it with me, James Remington. I don’t charm that easily.’
James laughed. ‘I’ve noticed.’
His newfound hero status soon became a little overwhelming. People, strangers, thanked him in the street. His drinks were bought for him at the pub. The Skye Herald ran a story on him. The local schoolchildren from Josh’s class sent him a poster with his picture from the paper stuck in the centre and ‘Our Hero’ in bold print at the top.
The community embraced him enthusiastically, like a long-lost son. He’d never felt so adored in his life. It was a total revelation for him. He’d locumed in small towns before but Skye had welcomed him with open arms.
He supposed, aside from Josh, his leg had a lot to do with it. It was harder to stay aloof from the dynamics of the town when he couldn’t easily escape it. Not that he’d deliberately kept himself aloof in other places but he had been able to roam away on weekends to explore the local area—and he had. Here he was grounded and when he walked down the street, everyone knew him.
It felt surprisingly good. They were fine people with hearts of gold and their pleasure at seeing him was always genuine. Everywhere he went and everything he did, a strong sense of community prevailed. From the chook raffles at the pub on Sunday night to the friendly Friday night footy competition to the monthly barn dance, Skye thrived on its kinship.
James had never really felt like he’d belonged anywhere. But as Skye embraced him he began to feel a connection. Sure, he was dying to get on his bike and go for a ride. Longing to feel the wind in his face again. But he wasn’t as stir crazy as he’d expected to be and his affection for Skye was growing each day.
Alf had made fixing James’s bike his highest priority, ringing the Melbourne firm daily to check on the progress of the parts he required and not working on any other job for two days when they finally arrived. And if anyone in Skye grumbled about being bumped, his sharp ‘It’s for the doc’ silenced any criticism.
As far as Alf was concerned, nothing was too much or too good for the man who had pulled his grandson’s limp body out of the water and resuscitated him. James spent an hour or so after work each day at the garage, checking on progress and talking engines, and Alf was more than happy to chat with the man who had saved Josh.
Yes, his time in Skye was very pleasant indeed. Except for Helen. His attraction for her didn’t seem to lessen with time, no matter how much he told himself it wasn’t going to happen. If anything, it seemed to get stronger.
He smelt roses wherever he went. A faint trace of them clung to his clothes, reminding him of her even when she wasn’t around. Her ponytail swished enticingly and although she was very careful, he caught the occasional glimpse of her in her sleep shirt.
Once he’d even come home after being at Alf’s and caught her coming out of the kitchen munching on an apple, swathed in a purple bath towel, a white one tied turban-style around her hair. Her shoulders had been bare except for the occasional water droplet.
They had both frozen on the spot and stared for what had seemed like for ever. It had taken all his willpower not to move towa
rds her. He had apologised and she had fled the room. They hadn’t spoken about it since, but he had dreamt about it often. Too often for his own sanity.
The day finally arrived for James to have his cast removed and he was awake early, raring to go. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and as he swung his legs out of bed he rapped on the cast with his knuckles.
‘Not going to miss you, buddy.’
He had taken possession of his newly fixed bike a few days before and had already planned a day trip for tomorrow. He’d noticed a helmet in the garage when he’d been stowing the bike. He recognised it as Helen’s from the photos of her and her father and he planned on asking her to accompany him.
He got up and put a pot of coffee on and waited impatiently for Helen to get up. The hospital was on the northern outskirts of town, a little too far to hobble, and she had told him she’d drop him there. He read for a while, got up and poured himself another cup, flicked on the television, turned it off and picked up his book again.
When she emerged at eight o’clock he almost leapt up and kissed her. Even her prim ponytail didn’t register.
‘You’re ready, I see.’ She smiled.
The curve of her mouth was as cute as hell. ‘For two hours.’
‘Can I get a coffee first?’
James suppressed the urge to scream. ‘Of course. Half an hour’s not going to be here or there.’
Helen downed a cup and they were at the hospital twenty minutes later. She accompanied him inside as she wanted to talk to Jonathon about Elsie, who was being discharged in the next few days.
She left James at X-ray and went in search of the med super. It was bedlam inside and when she finally tracked a nurse down twenty minutes later she was chatting to James.
‘We won’t be able to get to you for another half an hour or so, James,’ she said, looking very harried. ‘Sorry, we’re down two nurses and Jonathon and the registrar are in Theatre, operating on a ruptured appendix.’
