by Miranda Lee
‘I’ve heard all about Dean Ratchitt,’ he said abruptly, and her green eyes flared wide with shock.
‘Who from? Aunt Ivy?’
‘Amongst others.’
‘And what…what did they say?’
‘The truth. That you were engaged to be married and he betrayed you with another girl. That you argued and told him you would marry the next man who asked you.’ He set steady eyes upon her own stunned gaze. ‘So I’m the next man, Emma, and I’m asking you. Marry me.’
Jason was taken aback when her shock swiftly became anger. ‘They had no right to tell you that,’ she shot back at him. ‘I didn’t mean it. I never meant it. I can’t marry you, Jason. I’m sorry.’ And she tore her eyes away from his to smoulder down into her coffee.
Her passionate outburst stripped away the cool, calm façade Jason had been hiding behind. He was never at his best when his will was thwarted, especially when he believed what he wanted was for the best for everyone all round.
‘Why not?’ he demanded to know. ‘Because you’re waiting for Ratchitt to return?’
‘Dean,’ she snapped, glittering green eyes flying back to his. ‘His name is Dean.’
‘Ratchitt matches his character better.’
Her gaze grew distressed and dropped back down. ‘He…he might come back,’ she mumbled. ‘Now that I’m alone, and…and…’
‘An heiress?’ he supplied for her cuttingly. ‘I don’t think this place will bring him running, Emma.’ And he waved around the ancient and shabbily furnished room. ‘Men like Ratchitt want more out of life than some old house in a country backwater, even if the front rooms have been turned into a sweet shop.’
She was shaking her head at him. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘I think I understand the situation very well. He stole your heart, then broke it, without a second thought. I’ve met men like him before. They can’t keep their pants zipped for more than a day, and they love no one but themselves. He’s not worth loving, any more than Adele was. I’ve consigned her to my past. The best thing you can do is consign Ratchitt to your past, and go forward.
‘Marry me, Emma,’ he urged, when her eyes became confused. ‘I promise to be a good husband to you and a good father to our children. You do want children, don’t you? You don’t want to wake up one day and find that you’re a dried-up old spinster with nothing to look forward to but loneliness and rheumatism.’
She buried her face in her hands then, and began to cry. Not noisily, but deeply, her shoulders shaking. Jason was moved as he’d never been moved before. He raced round the table to squat down beside her chair. He reached out to take her small, slender hands in his and turned her tear-stained face towards him.
‘I won’t hurt you like he did, Emma,’ he promised her with a fierce tenderness. ‘I give you my word.’
‘But it’s too soon,’ she choked out.
Jason wasn’t sure what she meant. ‘Too soon?’ he probed. ‘You mean since Ivy’s death?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you saying you might marry me later on?’
Her eyes lifted, betraying a haunted, hunted look. She was tempted to say yes, he could see. But something was stopping her.
‘A month,’ she blurted out. ‘Give me a month. Then ask me again.’
Jason sat back on his heels and exhaled slowly, his surge of elation dampened by a prickle of apprehension. It wasn’t a long time, a month. But it worried him. He didn’t believe the wait had anything to do with Ivy’s death. It was all to do with Ratchitt. She still hoped he’d come back for her.
The possibility of that scum showing up again was slight, Jason believed. But even that slight possibility sickened him. The thought of Emma falling back into his filthy arms sickened him even further.
And it did something else. It sparked a jealousy which startled him.
He’d never been a jealous man before. Not even with Adele. Emma was evoking emotions in him that were alien to all his previous experiences with women. Along with the jealousy, he also felt fiercely protective.
Still, he would imagine most men would feel protective of a girl like Emma. She was so fragile-looking. And so sweet. Someone had to stand between her and the Ratchitts of this world. She wasn’t experienced enough to see just how bad his type were. How depraved and conscienceless.
‘All right, Emma,’ Jason agreed. ‘A month. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see you during that month, does it? I’d like to take you out on a regular basis. We could get to know each other better.’
‘But…but everyone with think that…that…’
‘That you’re dating Dr Steel,’ he finished firmly. ‘What’s wrong with that? You’re single. I’m single. Single people date each other, Emma. That’s hardly grounds for gossip.’
Her eyes almost smiled through their wet lashes. ‘You don’t know the good ladies of Tindley.’
‘Believe me, I’m beginning to. So what about dinner tomorrow night? It’s Friday, and I always eat out on a Friday. We could drive over to the coast if you don’t want to be seen with me here in Tindley for a while.’
She blinked the last of her tears away and looked at him with that searching gaze he found quite discomfiting. ‘Are you going to try to get me into bed afterwards?’
Jason had trouble stopping the guilt from jumping into his eyes. Not that he’d had seduction on the menu for tomorrow night. He’d actually been going to leave that course of action for a week or two.
‘No,’ he said, with what he hoped was honest-sounding conviction. ‘No. I wouldn’t do that.’
She looked at him with frowning eyes. ‘Why not?’ she posed in a puzzled tone. ‘You said you found me pretty and desirable. You also asked me to marry you. I imagined you fancied me, at least a little.’
‘I do fancy you. And more than a little. Hell, Emma.’ He stood up and raked his hands back through his hair. She’d thrown him for a loop by being so sexually direct. He hadn’t expected it from her. Did she want him to try to seduce her or not?
‘It’s perfectly all right, Jason,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve been brought up in a country town, not a convent. I’m well acquainted with the way men think and feel when it comes to sex. I know you haven’t had a girlfriend since coming here to Tindley, and I’m sure you’re fairly frustrated by now. I just didn’t want to give you false hopes if I agreed to go out to dinner with you. You’re a very attractive, experienced man, and I’m sure you know how to get to a girl. But I have no intention of sleeping with you. Not this side of a wedding ring, anyway.’
He stared at her, and her chin tipped up, revealing a side to Emma he hadn’t seen before. A very stubborn side. A decidedly steely light gleamed in her green eyes and her attitude was definitely defiant.
One part of him admired her strong old-world standards, till he remembered Ratchitt. He’d bet London to a brick on that she hadn’t given him the same ultimatum.
Or had she? he suddenly revised. Was that what had happened between them? Had she refused to sleep with Ratchitt till he’d walked with her to the altar? Had he given her an engagement ring, then simply had other girls on the side till the prize would finally be his without any more arguing, for ever and ever?
‘Do you want to take back your proposal now?’ she asked challengingly. ‘And your dinner invitation?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But I would like an answer to one simple question.’
‘What question’s that?’
‘Are you a virgin, Emma?’
CHAPTER THREE
THE following day felt interminable to Jason. Several times his mind wandered to that moment the evening before when Emma had looked him straight in the eye and told him the truth. Yes, she was a virgin. So what? Did he have a problem with that?
Did he have a problem with that?
Yes, and no.
Virginity wasn’t something he’d encountered before in his personal life. Not once. Adele hadn’t been a virgin. Not by a long shot. None of his other
girlfriends over the years had been virgins, either.
The thought of making love to a virgin was a little daunting. Unknown territory usually was.
At the same time, the thought of making love to an untouched Emma on their wedding night appealed to a part of him he’d never known existed. He’d never thought of himself as a romantic before. But with Emma he was a different man. He recognised that already. She brought out the best in him.
And perhaps the worst.
Possessiveness and jealousy in men weren’t traits he’d ever admired. He didn’t like the way such men treated their girlfriends and wives. The females in their lives were flattered for a while—seeing their partners’ passion as evidence of the extent of their love. Till reality set in and the flattery gave way to fear. He vowed to fight the temptation to be like that with Emma. He wanted her to be happy as his wife, never afraid.
And she would be his wife. He felt confident of that now. It was just a matter of time.
Time…
Jason glanced up at the clock on the wall. Five o’clock. And the small waiting room was still full of wheezing, sneezing patients. The beautiful spring weather had brought a rash of hay-fever sufferers, along with the blossoms.
Sighing, Jason rose from his desk and went to call in the next patient.
‘I hope to heaven that’s it, Nancy?’ Jason said at long last, popping his head around the consulting-room door and sighing with relief when he spied the empty waiting room. The clock on the wall now said five to seven. Surgery usually finished around five-thirty and, whilst it sometimes ran late, it was rarely this late.
‘Yes, all finished for the day, Dr Steel,’ Nancy returned, in a sighing tone which Jason knew didn’t denote tiredness, but a reluctance to leave the love of her life and go home to an empty house.
Not him. The practice!
Nancy had been Doc Brandewilde’s resident receptionist - cum - secretary - cum - book - keeper - cum-emergency nurse for the past twenty years. She worked six days a week—seven, if and when required—and overtime without ever asking for an extra cent. Rising sixty now, she was as healthy as a horse and would probably be presiding over the practice for another twenty years at least.
She’d been a bit pernickety with Jason when he’d first arrived, till he’d discovered through Muriel that Nancy was afraid he’d fire her, if and when Doc retired, and Jason took on a new partner. Once Jason had reassured Nancy the job was hers for as long as she wanted it, their relationship had improved in leaps and bounds, although there’d been a temporary hiccup when Jason had suggested they get a computer system for the files and the accounts. He’d made the mistake of saying a computer would be more efficient and cut down on her workload. He hadn’t realised, at that point in time, that Nancy didn’t want to cut down on her workload.
Nancy had gone into an instant panic, then flounced home in a right snip, saying if Jason thought a machine could do a better job than twenty years’ experience, then she didn’t want to work for such a fool. After one day’s mayhem in the surgery, Jason had gone crawling on his hands and knees, begging for her to return. He’d grovelled very well, calling himself an idiot from the city who didn’t understand the workings of a country practice, saying if she could be gracious enough to forgive his ignorance and help him wherever possible, he was sure to get the hang of things in due time.
After that, they got on like a house on fire, even though Nancy maintained an old-fashioned formality in addressing him as Dr Steel all the time, which sometimes irritated Jason. Still, that seemed to be the way with people in country towns. They held their doctors in high esteem. Put them on a pedestal, so to speak. And while that was rather nice, Jason sometimes felt a bit of a fraud. If they knew his original motives for choosing medicine as a profession, they might not be so respectful.
‘Sorry to love you and leave you, Nancy,’ he said briskly, when it became clear she was going to linger, ‘but I have to go upstairs and change.’
‘Going out for dinner, Doctor?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Where are you off to tonight?
‘I thought I might drive over to the coast.’
‘Seems a long way to go to eat alone,’ Nancy returned on a dry note.
Jason opened his mouth to lie, but then decided against it. The people of Tindley would like nothing better than to see their second and much younger doctor safely married to a local girl. Doctors were as scarce as hen’s teeth in some rural areas. They would exert a subtle—or perhaps not so subtle—pressure on Emma, to be a sensible girl and snap up the good doctor while she had the chance.
‘Actually, no, I’m not going alone,’ he said casually. ‘I’m taking Emma Churchill.’
If he’d been expecting shock on Nancy’s face, then he was sorely disappointed. Her smile was quite smug. ‘I suspected as much.’
‘You sus—’ Jason broke off, grimacing resignedly. The small town grapevine never ceased to amaze him. ‘How on earth did you know?’ he asked, with wry acceptance and a measure of curiosity. No way would Emma have told anyone.
‘Muriel said you were asking about Emma yesterday. Then Sheryl spotted you going through Ivy’s side gate last night. Then Emma dropped in to Beryl’s Boutique at lunch-time and bought a pretty new dress. On top of that, you’ve been clock-watching and jumpy all day. It didn’t take too much to put two and two together.’
Jason had to smile. Jumpy, was he? You could say that again. He’d hardly slept a wink last night for thinking about Emma.
‘And what will the good ladies of Tindley think about such goings-on?’ he asked, still smiling.
Nancy laughed. ‘Oh, there won’t be any goings-on where Emma is concerned, Dr Steel, so you can save your energy and keep your mind above your trouser belt till the ring’s on her finger. You are planning on proposing, aren’t you?’
Jason saw no point in being coy. ‘I am…but that’s doesn’t mean she’ll say yes.’
‘She will, if she’s got any sense in her head. But there again—’ She broke off suddenly, and frowned.
‘If you’re thinking about Dean Ratchitt, then I know all about him,’ he said brusquely. ‘Muriel filled me in.’
Nancy’s expression was troubled. ‘He’s bad news, that one. Emma was really stuck on him. Always was, right from her schooldays.’
‘I hear he’s very handsome.’
Nancy frowned. ‘Not handsome, exactly,’ she said. Not like you, Dr Steel. Now, you’re handsome in my book. But he has something, has Dean. And he has a way about him with the women, no doubt about that.’
‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ Jason said testily. ‘But he’s not here in Tindley, Nancy, and I am. So let’s leave it at that, shall we? Now, I must shake a leg or I’m going to be late.’
‘What time did you say you’d pick Emma up?’
‘Seven-thirty.’
‘Just as well she lives down the road, then, isn’t it? Off you go. I’ll lock up here.’
Jason dashed up the stairs, stripping as he went.
Like Ivy’s sweet shop, the surgery was part of an old house which fronted the main street of Tindley. But where Ivy’s place was small and one-storeyed, the house Doc Brandewilde had bought thirty years before was two-storeyed and quite spacious. Doc and his wife had raised three boys in it.
But they’d always wanted a small acreage out of town, it seemed, and once Jason had expressed interest in the practice Doc had bought his dream place and moved, leaving the living quarters of the house in town to his new partner.
Jason had been thrilled. He’d liked the house on sight. It had character, like those American houses he’d often seen in movies and which he’d always coveted. Made of wood, it had an L-shaped front verandah, with wisteria wound through the latticed panels, and a huge front door with a brass knocker and stained glass panels on either side. Inside, the ceilings were ten feet high, and all the floors polished wood. A wide central hall downstairs separated two rooms on the left and two o
n the right. It passed a powder room under the stairs, and led into a large kitchen which opened out onto a long, wide back verandah. The two rooms on the left—which had once been the front parlour and morning room—had been converted into the waiting room and surgery. The two on the right remained the dining and lounge rooms.
Upstairs, there had been four bedrooms and one bathroom till a few years back, when Doc’s wife, Martha, had brought in the renovators and combined the two smallest bedrooms on the right into a roomy master bedroom and en suite bathroom.
Jason rushed into this bathroom now, snapping on the shower and reaching for the soap. No time to shave, he realised. Pity. He’d wanted to be perfect for Emma. Still, he wasn’t one of those dark shaven men who grew half a beard by five o’clock in the afternoon. His father had been dark—according to his parents’ wedding photos. But his mother fair. He’d ended up being a mixture of both, with mid-brown hair, his father’s olive skin and his mother’s light blue eyes.
And a blessed lack of body hair, he thought as he lathered up his largely hairless chest.
With time ticking away, he didn’t shampoo his hair. No way did he want to front up with wet hair. Snapping off the taps, he dived out of the shower, grabbed a towel and began to rub vigorously. Five minutes later he was standing in his underpants, scanning his rather extensive wardrobe.
No suit tonight, he thought. Tonight called for something a little less formal, which didn’t really present a problem, except in making a choice. During his days as a dashing young Sydney doctor, he’d bought clothes for every occasion.
His eyes moved up and down the hangers several times. Damn, but he had too many clothes! Finally, he grabbed the nearest hanger to his hand, and had already dragged on the cream trousers, pale blue silk shirt and navy blazer before remembering Adele had chosen that very outfit the last time they’d gone shopping together. She’d said it made him look like a millionaire, fresh from winning the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. She’d liked the image, said it turned her on. Nothing turned Adele on, Jason thought ruefully, like the thought of money.
