The Outback Doctor's Surprise Bride

by Amy Andrews

  James nodded. Her voice was curiously lacking in emotion. She’d obviously learnt a long time ago to never get her hopes up where her father was concerned. It seemed so sad in the current circumstances to not be able to lean on the one other person who had given you life.

  ‘How often do you see him?’

  Helen shrugged and turned back to face him. ‘The last time was two years ago.’

  She sounded matter-of-fact. ‘You sound very tolerant of him.’

  ‘I guess Elsie had a big influence on me there. She always encouraged me to have a relationship with him. To accept him for what he was. Accept his transience and that the time we had together was finite. She understood he didn’t know how to cope with Mum, or with me, and I guess in lots of ways she made excuses for him because I was a child struggling to understand my mother’s illness and I didn’t need to deal with my father’s shortcomings as well. And I guess I bought it.’

  ‘You were a child. He was your father. Of course you wanted to look up to him.’ He understood that better than anyone.

  ‘And I did. But as much as I love him, there are times when I’ve felt really neglected by him.’ Like right now.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. It seemed like they’d both been abandoned by the people who should have been looking out for them.

  They stared at each other for a few moments, united in the solidarity of a similar background. The nurse who had been tending to Elsie’s pressure-area care bustled into the lounge, breaking their connection. ‘We’re finished,’ she announced. ‘You can go back in if you like.’

  Helen gulped down the rest of the contents of her mug.

  ‘Go now,’ she said to him. ‘You need to get ready for work. I’ll just make these phone calls then I’ll head back in.’

  James hesitated. ‘Are you sure? I don’t like leaving you alone.’

  She smiled. ‘I know every person in this hospital, James. Heavens, I know everyone in Skye. I’m not alone.’

  Still he hesitated. ‘I’ll pop by at lunchtime. Ring me if…if you need me before that.’

  Helen watched him leave. She called to him as he reached the open doorway of the lounge and he turned back. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  He nodded and left.

  Elsie died the following day at lunchtime. She’d started Cheyne-Stokes breathing that morning and Helen had known it was close. Every laboured breath Elsie had taken had teetered on the edge of her last, the pause between each respiration stretching interminably. James had been by her side when the next breath hadn’t come.

  Helen didn’t cry, just held Elsie’s hand tight and stroked her hair as she comforted a sobbing Denise and a dazed Duncan. James left to give the family some privacy, returning a few hours later after a concerned phone call from one of the nurses.

  Helen sat there, her face blank, her hand stroking Elsie’s. James touched her shoulder lightly and she shrugged it off. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, her breath frozen inside her, along with a huge block of emotions. ‘I’m fine.’

  James sat with her until Helen was ready to let go. He took her elbow and guided her up out of the chair, concerned by her lack of emotion.

  She pulled away. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘Go back to work. I’ve got a funeral to organise.’

  She left and he watched her go, looking untouchable in her grief.

  In control.

  Fine.

  Except he wasn’t buying it. Not for a moment.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HELEN continued to be ‘fine’ for the next week. They delayed the funeral as long as possible in the hope that her father would be able to make it in time. Elsie had understood Owen better than anyone, had never been judgmental about him, and Helen knew her father would want to be there.

  She hadn’t heard from him but then she hadn’t expected to either. Her father had a habit of just turning up. But the funeral couldn’t be delayed inevitably and a week after she died Elsie was scheduled to be buried.

  Owen Franklin knocked on Helen’s door the morning of the funeral. James opened it and knew who it was instantly. The tall man in leathers didn’t seem to have aged any from the photo that stood on the coffee-table. His hair was greyer but there was a vitality about him that belied his years. He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, and shook James’s hand, exuding charisma.

  ‘I’m pleased you got here in time. Helen will be most relieved.’

  ‘Yes, I have cut it a bit fine, haven’t I?’ Owen remarked as he wandered around the lounge room, inspecting things. ‘I was in Broome—only found out a few days ago.’

  What? No telephones in Broome? James wasn’t impressed by Owen’s cavalier attitude and felt a curious urge to give him a piece of his mind. He’d been going out of his mind, worrying about Helen’s emotional state. Her insistence on being fine, her stoic refusal to grieve.

  Hell, she’d been back at work the next day and no amount of persuasion or bullying by him or Frank had swayed her. Would it have killed her father to ring, to reach out to his daughter? Just once?

  ‘What time is the funeral?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  Owen nodded. ‘Is my girl around?’

  ‘She’s in the shower. I’ll let her know you’re here.’

  Owen put a hand on James’s shoulder as he passed. ‘Are you and Helen…involved?’

  What? The man was going to get all proprietorial now? All fatherly? James felt his hackles rise and he stared pointedly at Owen’s hand until the older man dropped it. No, I’m just the one who’s been here for her.

  ‘No. I’m just the locum. Helen’s been putting up with me for a few months.’

  Helen heard her father’s query and James’s denial as she walked down the hallway. She remembered the heat of his mouth and, despite knowing it was for the best, his quick dismissal hit her like an arrow to the solar plexus. Had she truly expected anything different?

  When she entered the lounge the two men were sizing each other up. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  Owen opened his arms and Helen went straight to him. ‘You made it,’ she said, her words muffled as she pressed her face into his chest. She inhaled his familiar aftershave and leaned into him. God, she’d missed him.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner.’

  Helen pulled back, heard the gruffness in his voice, and knew in his own way that this was affecting him. ‘It’s OK. You’re here now.’

  ‘That’s the girl, chin up. Elsie was a tough old bird who lived a great life. She wouldn’t have wanted any of us to shed tears over her passing.’

  James watched Helen nod, dry-eyed, and despaired. Chin up? He had hoped her father’s arrival would be the key to unlocking Helen’s fettered emotions. That she would see him and all the emotions she’d stored up would be released and she’d burst into tears. But if he was going to give her the chin-up routine…

  ‘Here, I got you this.’ Owen pulled a small white packet out of his pocket.

  Helen took the offering from him, noticing the dimple in his chin, so like James’s. She opened it and peered inside. ‘Oh, Dad, it’s beautiful,’ she said. A small white mother-of-pearl duck lay nestled in some tissue paper.

  Owen grinned. ‘I thought you’d like it. Got it in Broome.’

  Helen ran her fingers over the smooth, milky contours. ‘Thanks,’ she said, pecking her father on the cheek. She placed it on the shelf with the others and admired it. Her father had brought her most of them from his travels.

  ‘Come on, I bet you’ve been driving all night and haven’t even eaten yet.’ She smiled at her father, pleased beyond words that he was there. The only other person in the world who truly understood how much Elsie had meant to her. ‘I’ll cook you some breakfast.’

  ‘Ah, you know me so well.’ Owen chuckled.

  James watched them leave the room, hands linked. He marvelled at how close they seemed, given how little Owen had been around. OK, Helen hadn’t dissolved into tears as he had hoped, but her body looked more
relaxed, her face less taut, her shoulders less tense, the amber flecks glowing warmly in her eyes again instead of the vacant jade chill that had been there for the last ten days.

  Her genuine smile had spoken a thousand words. Relief and gratitude and love. She seemed sincerely touched by her father’s gift and accepted his presence with no form of censure. He could hear their chatter floating out from the kitchen and it sounded familiar, intimate. As he slipped out of the house James hoped that, whatever their interaction, Helen got what she really needed from her father to help her get through her loss. Not just a lousy duck.

  James passed Owen’s bike in the drive as he walked the short distance to the surgery. Had he not been so annoyed with the man, James would have stopped and admired the gleaming chrome of the powerful Harley. But for the life of him he couldn’t understand what would possess a father to abandon his ill wife and child, and the chrome instantly lost all its shine. His cold, lonely childhood suddenly looked rosy by comparison.

  The surgery stayed open until ten-thirty. All the patients that morning commented on Owen Franklin rolling back into town and all had an opinion on his lifestyle. Most were disparaging about it, puzzled by it even, although all agreed he was a difficult man to dislike. And their loyalty to Helen demanded at least a grudging acceptance of him.

  James tried not to get involved, his own quickly formed opinion a lot less charitable. He was relieved when they shut their doors and he could have respite from the pros and cons of Owen Franklin. He felt nervous about the approaching funeral, worried about Helen’s continuing emotional void and unsure of his place. He wanted to be by Helen’s side as he had been since Elsie’s death but she didn’t need him now her father had returned.

  He snorted to himself as he grabbed the jacket he’d brought to work with him that morning. Who was he kidding? She hadn’t needed him anyway, with or without Owen. Every person in Skye had been around, comforting her, feeding her, worrying about her. Had she wanted it, any one of them would have lent her their shoulders to cry on, their arms to hold her. No, sirree, she didn’t need him at all.

  Still, James hesitated as he stepped out of the surgery. Should he call in at the cottage and see if she wanted him to escort her? He wanted to—badly. He’d become quite protective of her these days and the urge to seek her out, check how she was doing was very strong. But she needed this time with her father. To reconnect. To reminisce. She didn’t need a third wheel.

  It was eerie, walking through Skye. All the businesses were either shut or in the process of shutting down as he passed. Everyone in the town would be at the funeral and most appeared to be there already as he approached the church. The churchyard was almost full. Clusters of people, chatting in low voices, waited for the hearse to arrive.

  He nodded to each group as he passed, amazed at the fact that he seemed to know everyone after a few short months. He made his way over to Don and Genevieve, who were standing with Frank.

  ‘How’s she doing this morning?’ Genevieve asked, bouncing an almost two-month-old William on her hip.

  James held out his finger and the baby gave him a dribbly smile as he reached out and clasped it. ‘The same.’

  Genevieve tut-tutted. ‘So she’s still fine?’

  He nodded. ‘Her father arrived just before eight, so I’m hoping she’ll have vented with him.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it,’ Frank said, indicating with a nod of his head.

  James turned and saw Helen and her father walking into the churchyard with the rest of Elsie’s family who’d travelled to Skye for the funeral. Helen had her arm around a sobbing Denise. She was dressed in a simple black dress, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. She looked a little more relaxed but Frank was right, she didn’t look like she’d spent the last few hours sobbing her heart out. She smiled at everyone as she made her way into the church and even stopped to comfort a couple of obviously upset people.

  The hearse pulled up, the flower-draped coffin visible through the glass.

  ‘I gotta go,’ Frank said. ‘Duty calls.’ He was one of the pallbearers.

  The milling crowd slowly trooped inside. James sat with Genevieve and Don three seats from the front. He could see Helen’s erect frame easily, her ponytail brushing the nape of her neck, her father’s arm firmly around her shoulders. There was nothing about her stature that indicated she would break down and cry. And it seemed an awful thing to be hoping for but if anyone needed a good howl it was Helen.

  Helen went through the motions at the funeral. Sang when the organ played, bowed her head when the minister prayed, even said ‘Amen’ in the right places. There were some lovely tributes and it was impossible to stop the hot tears that stung at her eyes, demanding release.

  But every time a well of emotion rose in her chest she took some deep calming breaths and blinked hard. Her father was right. Elsie wouldn’t want any of them to mourn her passing. She would not cry.

  The service came to an end and Helen rose, her legs shaking as she watched the coffin being carried out of the church. She put her arm around Duncan as he led the procession outside to the graveyard. She caught James’s eye as she passed his pew and saw the concern in his eyes.

  He’d been a wonderful support this last week. He’d been largely silent but always there. Making sure she ate, checking on her frequently and screening the number of visitors. She knew he was worried about her lack of emotion, had tried to speak to her about it on a couple of occasions, but he hadn’t pushed and had backed off when she had asked him to.

  The truth was she couldn’t let herself go in front of him. That would take their strange mustn’t-cross-the-line relationship to a new level and that was too painful to contemplate with someone who was going to be gone in a few short weeks. She had lain in bed every night feeling so desolate, so alone, craving his embrace but knowing that it wouldn’t help. Knowing that she’d just want more.

  The ceremony continued at the graveside and her father took her hand. She drew strength from his solidness. Physically and emotionally. She felt the love and support of the entire town surrounding her, and as the coffin was lowered her father squeezed her hand and she squeezed back.

  The wake was held in the CWA hall. James didn’t stick around for long. The surgery was scheduled to open again at one and he had volunteered to man it, including the reception desk, so everyone else could attend the wake. Helen was surrounded by a constantly changing crowd of locals, all hugging her and passing on their condolences.

  James was relieved to see Owen sticking close, his arm around his daughter’s waist, being attentive and supportive. Good. If ever there was a time she needed her old man it was now. He hoped she’d lean on him hard for these next few days and find a way to grieve for what she had lost. Owen Franklin certainly owed his daughter that.

  It was a slow afternoon with only a trickle of patients. Most people had progressed from the wake to the pub. Very few businesses had reopened. The agency had faxed him a copy of the contract for the next locum job and he read it thoroughly between patients, deciding to sign it later. It was going to be strange, leaving Skye. For the first time in his life he felt like he belonged to a family. The connections he’d made here were strong and walking away would be harder than he’d ever imagined possible.

  James didn’t go back to the house when he shut up shop for the day. He wasn’t sure where Helen and her father had ended up but he wanted to give them some privacy. So he headed for the pub. It was very crowded tonight, many of the funeral attendees still hanging around.

  He sat with Alf and a couple of other old-timers as they reminisced about Elsie. They drank cold beer and ate thick steaks. A footy game was showing on the big-screen television.

  ‘Wonderful woman,’ Alf murmured, and raised his glass, and they all clanked theirs against his. ‘She did a marvellous job with raising those grandkids after the accident. And taking Helen on…’

  ‘Here! Here!’ said Doug Phillips. James had been seeing him about
the diabetic ulcer on his toe.

  ‘Someone had to,’ Billy Dingle threw in. Another patient of James—prostate problems. ‘Owen wasn’t any help.’

  ‘She’ll be missed,’ said Alf.

  There was general agreement around the table.

  James stayed on and watched the next game and it was ten o’clock before he got home. He noticed Owen’s bike wasn’t there. Maybe he’d garaged it?

  He expected to see Helen and her father chatting in the lounge room or the kitchen, but the house was quiet, as if it was empty, when he went inside. There were some photo albums scattered on the coffee-table but no other evidence that they’d even been back to the house. Maybe they’d gone to bed. It had, after all, been an emotionally intense day.

  As he was passing Helen’s room he heard a strange noise. A plaintive whimper like a wounded animal. He raised his hand to knock and then hesitated. What if her father was in there, comforting her? But he couldn’t hear any voices. And then the sound came again and it was so mournful he knocked without giving it any further thought.

  ‘Helen?’ he said quietly. No response. ‘Helen,’ he called again, louder this time.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Her muffled answer didn’t sound fine. In fact, he was heartily sick of hearing the word. He opened the door. The room was in darkness but the light spilling in from the hallway behind him illuminated her. She was in a black lacy slip, her hair still up, and she was lying in a foetal position, her arms wrapped around her knees. And she was moving slightly.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  It was said tonelessly, like a recorded message. Like a pull-the-string doll repeating the same phrase over and over. She didn’t look at him, she just stared. She looked frighteningly expressionless.

  He advanced slowly into the room. Where the hell was Owen? How could he go to bed while his daughter fell apart in the room next door? ‘Helen…’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she muttered again.

  He reached the edge of the bed and then slowly sank to the floor. ‘Where’s your dad?’