He didn’t push it.
‘I’ve come for the empties!’ A rather shrill voice pierced the clinic as Clara finished the restock.
‘Thanks, June.’ Clara smiled, handing the elderly lady the empty Esky. ‘Lunch was lovely. I’ve left a note on the fridge for next week’s mobile clinic roster. And a word of advice—if you see Timothy’s name down, make an extra round of sandwiches, he eats like a horse.’
‘Who eats like a horse?’ Timothy grinned, a bar of chocolate and a can of cola in hand as he made his way over.
‘Timothy, this is June.’ Clara introduced them, expecting Timothy to impart a brief nod or a quick handshake. ‘June makes the lunches and cleans the clinic.’
‘The magic fairy that comes in at night?’ Timothy said, putting down his can and shaking June’s hand warmly. ‘I was saying to Clara today that that was the best picnic I’ve ever tasted.’
‘He was, too,’ Clara agreed, smiling to herself as June blushed and patted her heavily sprayed curls.
‘What was that relish in the sandwiches?’ Timothy continued, food clearly one of his favourite topics.
‘My own onion jam.’ June gave a conspiratory wink. ‘It just adds that little something extra.’
‘It certainly does,’ Timothy agreed.
‘The recipe’s been passed down in my family for generations,’ June gushed. ‘But I’m sure I could rustle up a jar just for you, Doctor, seeing as you’re so partial to it.’
‘That would be great.’ Timothy grinned. ‘And none of this “Doctor” business, it’s Timothy.’
‘Timothy,’ June purred, tying on her pinny. ‘Right, then, I’d better get started.’
‘Did I hear right?’ Ross’s jaw was practically on the floor as he made his way over. ‘You’ve managed to score a whole jar of June’s onion jam? Shelly and I have been dropping hints for months. How about you, Clara?’
‘Same here.’ Clara grinned. ‘I’ll have to come over to yours for dinner one night, Timothy, if you’ve got your own stock of the contraband.’
‘Any time.’ For a tiny second their eyes locked, and June’s blush paled into insignificance as Clara turned purple.
‘About five o’clock, then.’ Ross smiled as a suddenly confused Clara fumbled for her bag and headed for the door. ‘Kell doesn’t want a big fuss, just a few steaks on the barby at ours is all I could get him to agree to.’
‘Sure.’ Clara nodded, glancing at her watch and racing towards the door, determined to catch the last ten minutes of her soap. ‘I’ve just told Shelly that I’ll bring the dessert, but remind her of that, Ross, when she’s panicking later—she always does way too much food.’
‘We’ll see you there?’ Ross checked with Timothy, as Shelly came over, smothering a yawn as she pulled out the keys ready to lock up on another day.
‘Great.’ Heading for the door, Timothy turned around. ‘How much should I put in?’ As Ross frowned Timothy elaborated. ‘For the present.’
‘Oh, no.’ Ross’s frown faded as he waved him off. ‘You’ve barely met the guy, so we don’t expect you to chip in for his leaving present.’
But Timothy wasn’t going anywhere.
His eyes narrowing, he eyed Ross for a moment or two before continuing. ‘I meant for Clara’s birthday present.’ Those green eyes weren’t smiling as he took in their horrified expressions. ‘I thought as much—you really have forgotten, haven’t you? Do you realise that Eileen Benton remembered? She’s been diagnosed with secondary cancer yet she still managed to make a present and wrap it up and remembered to wish Clara happy birthday!’
His eyes moved to the window, to Clara hurrying past, her red hair bright in the afternoon sun, and a smile softened his unusually harsh features as Ross and Shelly stood there, shamed by their own thoughtlessness and stunned at the emotional outburst from the happy-go-lucky new doctor!
‘You know, guys, what attracted me to this place when I saw the advert for the job was the supposed “close knit community.” Well here’s a bit of free advice—drop that stitch and the whole place will unravel.’
Turning to go, Timothy changed his mind. ‘And while I’m making myself unpopular, I might as well get everything off of my chest. Do you know there’s nothing more annoying than being told that just because you don’t have children you can’t possibly know how much life hurts? Eileen Benton is Clara’s best friend. Clara was her bridesmaid, she delivered her babies, and nursing her is hurting Clara like you wouldn’t believe. But then again, how would you guys know? I’m sure you never thought to ask.’
The knocking on her front door didn’t come as any surprise.
People always knocked at Clara’s door. Whether it was for a cup of sugar or a wound dressing change because the clinic was closed, Clara was used to hearing a quick rap on her front door before it was pushed open and the familiar Australian greeting ‘G’ day’ echoed down the hall.
Only this time the heavy knocking on the door wasn’t followed up with footsteps, just a long pause before it started again.
‘It’s open,’ Clara shouted loudly, her hair still dripping from her shower, a baggy T-shirt skimming her thighs as she eyed the mountain of clothes that lay in a higgledy-piggledy pile on her bed. She wished that the jumble of T-shirts and shorts and occasional shirt could somehow transform themselves into something that looked even remotely sexy.
‘In here,’ Clara called again as the knocking continued. Picking up a rather sheer lilac top she had bought eons ago, she hastily shoved it under her pillow. Sexy it might be—she’d bought it from a mail-order catalogue in a fit of madness—but there wasn’t exactly much call for see-through lilac organza in Tennengarrah.
Realising she was actually going to have to answer the blessed door, Clara let out a small sigh, tore herself away from her rather limited wardrobe and padded barefoot along the polished floorboards of her hallway
The knocking on the door mightn’t have been a surprise but the sight of Timothy Morgan standing in her doorway, hand poised ready to knock again, most certainly was.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Clara remonstrated, blushing furiously as she pulled her oversized T-shirt down over her oversized bottom and gestured him to come in. ‘I said it was open.’
‘I heard you,’ Timothy mumbled, and if Clara hadn’t known better she could have sworn that he, too, was blushing as he followed her through to the lounge. ‘But it didn’t seem right just to barge in. I thought perhaps you were expecting someone. I didn’t want to startle you.’
‘You didn’t,’ Clara lied, waiting for Timothy to tell her what he wanted, to explain why he was here, but when nothing was forthcoming, ever practical, Clara got straight to the point.
‘What can I help you with?’
‘Help me with?’ Timothy gave her a slightly startled look. ‘Nothing. I just came to walk you over to the barby.’
‘Oh.’
‘I thought it might make things a bit easier for you if you had someone to go with.’
‘Oh.’ Not the wittiest of responses but it was the best she could do. ‘I’m just getting dressed. Can I get you a drink or anything?’
‘No, thanks.’ He gave a nervous smile. ‘I’ll just wait here, shall I?’
Clara nodded, her smile equally nervous. ‘I shan’t be long. Make yourself at home.’
Sitting himself on the edge of the sofa, Timothy looked around, taking in the heavy wooden furniture, the clutter of framed photos on every available surface, the worn rug on the wooden floorboards. It didn’t look like an independent, just on thirty, woman’s home and if he hadn’t known better he wouldn’t have been surprised if Mr and Mrs Watts had strolled into the lounge to assess Clara’s escort for the evening!
But despite the fact it was clearly a family home, neither was it a shrine to her parents. A few bright cushions broke the rather bland colour scheme, a DVD and impressive music system filled the entertainment cabinet and a pile of glossy magazines littered the coffee-table.
It was just too big.
Too big for her to be alone in.
A lump in his throat expanded like bread in water as he imagined Clara at fifteen, here in this very lounge, confused and alone, struggling to comprehend the cruel hand the world had dealt her.
‘You didn’t have to sit staring at the wall,’ Clara admonished as she walked in. ‘You should have put the television on or some music or something.’ She was moving quickly, straightening magazines and trying desperately not to meet his eyes, awkward and exposed as the lilac organza made its first debut, not quite meeting the waistband or hipband or whatever it was you called it on the way too skimpy denim shorts that Clara was positive she was way too old for.
‘You look fabulous,’ Timothy enthused, catching her wrist as she rushed past and standing up beside her. ‘Is this a last-ditch effort to make Kell realise what he could be missing out on?’
She started to laugh, even opened her mouth to lightheartedly agree, but somewhere midway she changed her mind. His hand was hot and dry around her wrist, she could feel her radial pulse flickering against the fleshy nub of his thumb, and as her eyes met his the confusion that flickered could easily have been misinterpreted for something that looked suspiciously like lust.
‘No,’ she said slowly, her voice coming out more breathlessly than she’d intended. She cleared her throat as she retrieved her wrist before heading off to the kitchen to collect the dessert she had promised Shelly. Resting her burning cheeks against the cool white kitchen tiles, she ran a steadying hand across her rarely exposed midriff, concentrating on slowing her breathing down as she contemplated the shift in her feelings, the revelation that utterly astounded her.
‘I’m doing this for me.’
CHAPTER FIVE
IT SHOULD have been the worst day of her life.
Should have been hell on earth, saying goodbye to Kell and to all her secretly harboured dreams.
But somehow, with Timothy by her side, with his arm slung casually over her shoulders as they sidled up to the barby and handed over a bottle of wine and the huge Pavlova Clara had made, it wasn’t as agonising as she had thought it would be.
It wasn’t agony at all, in fact.
Ross and Shelly fell on her the second she arrived, plying her with some champagne as a cake appeared with rather too many candles twinkling away.
‘You didn’t have to do all this,’ Clara said shyly, as everyone crowded around and belted out ‘Happy Birthday.’ ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘It’s a very big deal,’ Shelly said, thrusting a massive bottle of perfume into her hands and giving her a kiss on the cheek, her sparkling eyes guiltily catching Timothy’s for a small second.
Even when Kell took her to one side and told her she was the best friend a guy could wish for and gave her a glimpse of the engagement ring. Clara managed a genuine smile and a kiss on the cheek for luck, and actually meant it when she wished him well, wished him and Abby all the love in the world.
‘It’s all right,’ Clara mumbled, as she made her way back to Timothy who was trying to look as if wasn’t watching. ‘I didn’t say anything out of place—you don’t have to slam me up against a wall and start kissing me again.’
‘Shame.’ Timothy laughed, ‘I rather enjoyed that.’ His voice grew more serious. ‘How was it?’
‘It was OK, believe it or not.’ Clara blinked. ‘Mind you, I think it helped that I didn’t like the ring he’d chosen—Argyle diamonds really aren’t my thing.’
‘You didn’t tell him that?’ Timothy yelped.
‘Of course not. I told him it was beautiful, that Abby would love it, all the sort of things that a good friend would say.’ The slight break in her voice didn’t go unnoticed and Timothy eyed her with concern.
‘Time we were out of here, I think.’
‘It will look rude,’ Clara protested. ‘I should offer to help Shelly clear up afterwards.’ But it was a halfhearted effort and when Timothy started on the round of goodbyes she joined in, grateful for his foresight as tears grew alarmingly close at the final hurdle and Kell pulled her in for a final goodbye hug.
‘Come on, you,’ Timothy said when finally it was over. ‘Let’s get you home.’
They walked back in silence. Shooting a look sideways at him, she watched as Timothy pretended to be intrigued with the miles of empty road ahead and a smile played on the edge of her lips.
‘I’m all right,’ she ventured. ‘You are allowed to talk to me, you know.’
‘I was trying to give you some space.’
‘Well, you don’t have to,’ Clara replied. ‘I’m fine. More than fine, in fact, I’m not even crying.’
‘You did really well.’
‘It wasn’t all that hard in the end,’ Clara admitted. ‘I guess at the end of the day I’m happy for him.’
‘Still hurts, though.’ They were at her door now, and Clara turned to face him.
‘Not that much, at least not as much as it would have if I’d made a complete fool of myself on Saturday night.’
‘You wouldn’t have made a fool of yourself,’ Timothy argued, and Clara let out an incredulous laugh.
‘Oh, come on, Timothy, of course I would have. That’s why you stopped me, remember?’
He stared at her then, really stared, his mouth opening to speak then closing again, but Clara filled the gap for him.
‘I’d have looked like an idiot…I’d have looked…’
‘Clara.’ Something in his voice stilled her, and when she looked up something in his eyes told her he meant business. ‘I stopped you from telling Kell how you felt because I could see how awkwardly things might have ended up. But never, not even for a moment did I think that you’d have looked silly.’ One hand cupped her cheek and she found herself staring back at him, her eyes trapped like those of a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘You would never have looked like a fool,’ he said more forcibly, ‘because any guy in their right mind would be glad to hear it from someone as gorgeous as you. I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.’
He was fumbling in his pocket now and Clara couldn’t be positive but she was sure she could see the beginning of a blush darken his cheeks as he pulled out a small box from his shorts. ‘They’re not quite Argyle diamonds, I’m afraid.’
Bemused, she opened the small navy box he offered, staring dumbly at the two small earrings twinkling back at her.
‘They’re opals,’ he offered needlessly, when Clara didn’t say anything. ‘If you get out a magnifying glass, of course. I found them when I was fossicking in Coober Pedey, and I had them made into earrings.’
‘They’re beautiful,’ Clara murmured, snapping the small box closed and handing them back.
‘They’re yours,’ Timothy said shyly. ‘Happy birthday, Clara.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Her hand was outstretched but Timothy wouldn’t take them back. ‘I can’t take them, Timothy. We both know that you had these made for your blonde nurse…Rhonda, isn’t it?’
‘It is and I did,’ Timothy said slowly, ‘but I’d say you’re rather more deserving, and anyway I’ve got an ulterior motive.’ He gave her the benefit of his lovely smile. ‘Their colour changes, depending on the mood of the wearer. So next time I think you’re furious with me I can sneak a look at the stones and know that you’re just premenstrual or whatever.’ He watched a smile creep across her face, watched as she opened the box again, her eyes staring in wonder at the small opals glittering back at her. ‘What colour are they now?’
‘Turquoise,’ Clara said breathlessly, ‘with tiny flashes of red.’
‘You know what that means, don’t you?’ he whispered, his lips moving towards hers for the second time since their recent first meeting. ‘Maybe you do like me after all.’ Only this time his movements were unhurried, this time she had every chance to escape, every chance to call things off. There was no barn wall to lean against, nothing holding her up other than an arm that moved around her waist, steadily pulling her in, and even t
hough this kiss was a world away from the one they had shared, even though this kiss was loaded with emotion and tenderness, there was a heady familiarity about it, a delicious sense of rightness as she revisited that unique masculine smell, the quiet strength of arms that held her, the rough scratch of his jaw mingling with the soft sweet fruit of his lips and the cool heady feel of his tongue. And somewhere in mid-kiss, somewhere mid-breath, her eyes opened, realisation dawning, and she pulled away startled, but still he smiled, still he held her, still he adored her with his eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I thought we were going to stop apologising.’
‘I—I am, w-we are,’ she stammered, her eyes darting over his shoulder and catching sight of the gathered crowd in the distance at Ross and Shelly’s, terrified how much she had enjoyed kissing Timothy and feeling strangely disloyal to the adoration she had, till so recently, felt for Kell.
‘Don’t look at Kell,’ he whispered, pulling her hand up to his chest, ‘Here, feel, I’m real Clara. Not some fantasy, not some distant dream you’ve got into your head.’
‘It just seems wrong.’ She turned her troubled eyes to him. ‘Yesterday—’
‘Forget yesterday.’ Timothy implored. ‘Clara, we both know we’re attracted to each other.’
She nodded slowly. It would have been stupid to deny it with a heart rate topping a hundred and lips still tingling from his kiss.
‘But what if you’re a rebound? What if—?’
‘We’ll be each other’s rebounds,’ Timothy whispered. ‘We’ll massage each other’s bruised egos and have three delicious months together, spoiling each other and inflating each others egos till we both think we’re gorgeous.’
‘I’m scared,’ Clara admitted, ‘scared of being hurt again.’
The Doctor's Outback Baby Page 8
