Flying Doctors

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘The Petersons are one lucky family.’ He rose to his feet and gazed down at her. ‘Ready for that drink?’

  I’ve been ready for you to notice me for over a year. ‘Sure, I’ll just get changed and meet you in the foyer.’ She walked to the locker room, somehow managing to control her feet which wanted to spin, twirl and tap their way there.

  It had been an incredible first shift. From the moment she’d stepped into the department Linton had seemed different, as if he was interested in her as a person, not just as a nurse. And he’d asked her out for a drink. She hummed to herself as she quickly changed into her jeans and loose-fitting top. She sprayed some perfume onto her neck and wrists, and almost skipped down the corridor.

  As she stepped into the foyer she heard Linton’s deliciously deep, rumbling voice. ‘It was a huge first day for you, Jodie, but you did a fantastic job. Are you up for A and E’s traditional welcome drinks?’

  ‘I think I deserve them.’ Her girlish laugh tinkled in the quiet foyer. ‘I hope every day isn’t going to be like today.’

  Emily stopped so fast her boots squeaked on the lino floor.

  Jason and Patti pushed through the door on the opposite side of the foyer, both dressed in city black. ‘We’re ready.’

  Emily’s stomach rolled. She swallowed hard against the rising bile. Drinks for new staff.

  Her blood pounded in her head, drowning out all coherent thought. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have got it so very wrong?

  You always get it wrong with men.

  This wasn’t ‘drinks’ as in ‘I finally noticed you and let’s go for drinks’. This was a general invitation for all new staff.

  Staff wellbeing is high on my agenda. Linton’s words sounded clearly in her head. Welcome drinks. A ‘getting to know you’ session—team bonding.

  She wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. She’d misinterpreted professional team building for personal interest. She’d let her crazy and out-of-control feelings for Linton colour her judgement so much that she’d heard only what she’d wanted to hear. An image of her jabbing his chest with her finger came into her head. She’d even let her guard down and flirted with him.

  Linton turned on hearing the squeal of her boots, his smile wide and welcoming. ‘Emily, I thought I recognised the sound of your boots.’

  Like a rabbit caught in a spotlight, she had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Be the friendly colleague and hide the pain. Tossing her head, she forced down every particle of disappointment and embarrassment, and summoned up, from the aching depths of her soul, ‘bright and breezy, Emily, everyone’s best friend’. The public Emily that shielded the real her.

  She walked toward the group, smiling. ‘Come on, you lot. It’s not often Linton opens his wallet so let’s take advantage while we can.’

  She linked arms with the med students and tugged them forward. ‘Linton, I hope you’ve been to the bank. I’m not only thirsty, but I’m completely starving.’ She flashed him a wide, friendly grin as she walked past. A grin that hid more than it displayed. A grin that made her cheeks ache. It was going to be a long evening.

  And an impossibly difficult year.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LINTON gazed out at the brilliant winter sunset lighting up the rich red soil of the outback and silhouetting the now still windmill against the backdrop of an orange sky. The beams of light caressed the earth, deepening and enhancing the already vivid colours. Nature’s slideshow was a lot more interesting than the slideshow he was preparing for the hospital board meeting.

  A flash of pink, white and grey swooped past, accompanied by a cacophony of raucous sound. The flock of galahs settled into the huge gumtree on the edge of his garden for their nightly rest. He hadn’t used his alarm since arriving in Warragurra. The birds woke him daily at dawn. Somehow their early morning song seemed more acceptable than the grinding and bumps of the rubbish trucks and the antics of the late-night drunks that had woken him in Sydney.

  He’d miss the birds when he left Warragurra.

  Still, that wasn’t for while yet. He headed back inside to his laptop. He’d ducked home to get some uninterrupted time to work on his report. Amazingly, his pager had stayed quiet and he really should have achieved more than he had.

  Actually, the quiet pager wasn’t all that amazing. Emily had been on duty today. In two short weeks she’d put the wheels back on A and E and his department was running even better than before.

  Warm and cosy smugness cuddled up to him, stroking his ego. Talking Emily into taking the unit manager position had been a stroke of pure brilliance. She was the most amazing nurse he’d ever worked with. She only called him in when it was absolutely necessary and if it wasn’t an emergency case, but a consult for Daniel, then by the time he arrived all the preliminary tests had been done and everything was waiting for him.

  Somehow she’d even managed to whip some enthusiasm into Jason, who no longer sat back but showed signs of being proactive. She’d also cracked the cone of silence that had initially surrounded Patti. The department positively purred.

  He had what he wanted—a reliable and dependable team and a department that met every challenge ably and well prepared. Life was good.

  He stared back at the computer screen, rereading the same words he’d written over half an hour ago.

  So if he had everything sorted at work, why the hell was he constantly thinking about Emily instead of this report? All afternoon she’d slipped in and out of his mind, which was crazy because he’d employed her so he didn’t have to think about work twenty-four seven. But snapshot images of her would catch him unawares, like her teasing smile, the way her hips rolled and swayed when she walked quickly through the department, and the floaty trail of her very feminine floral perfume, which had an unexpected kick of sensual spice.

  Emily and sensual didn’t belong in the same sentence. Emily was a colleague and a friend. Yet just lately he’d noticed things about her he’d never seen before. Like yesterday, when she’d bent over to pick up a pen and her scrubs had pulled across pert and curved buttocks he hadn’t known existed. He’d found himself wondering what else lay hidden beneath her baggy clothing.

  It was ridiculous. Emily was the exact opposite of what he looked for in a woman. Tall, long-legged women caught his eye. Not short women with psychedelic hair. It must be a delayed reaction to his recent lack of a social life. Work had been frantic and he hadn’t been out much lately.

  The bold ringtone of a 1950s telephone severed the thought. He punched the answer button on his mobile. ‘Linton Gregory.’

  ‘Lin, darling. I’m here to rescue you from small-town life and small-town people. Let’s fly to Sydney for dinner.’

  His mouth curved into a smile at the breathy and cajoling voice at the other end of the line. Tall, blonde and beautiful, Penelope Grainger divided her time between her parents’ enormous cattle station and the bright lights of Sydney, doing not much else other than enjoying life. He’d met her at a charity polo match a few months ago and had quickly discovered she was the female version of himself. No strings, all fun, and a well-honed ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you policy’.

  It suited him perfectly.

  Since the nightmare of Tamara he’d been vigilant and had adhered like superglue to that same policy. He didn’t need another I-told-you-so lecture from his father. Date and move on, son. Don’t get trapped again. Hell, he should have listened better in the first place. It would have saved his heart from being ripped out, pulverised and returned to him on a platter, just like his father had predicted.

  ‘Penelope, I would love to have dinner at Doyle’s but I can’t actually leave town this weekend as I’m on call.’

  The pout of her mouth sounded in her voice. ‘That’s just too boring. Well, I guess it will have to be dinner at the Royal, then. Can you meet me there at eight?’

  ‘Eight it is.’ He whistled softly as he hung up the phone. Work was sorted and his social life was returning
to normal. A night with Penelope would put everything back into perspective and these strange and unsettling thoughts about Emily would recede.

  Linton was early. He’d given up completely on the report, rationalising that a fresh mind tomorrow would be more efficient than trying to work on it tonight. Rather than pacing around the house like a caged lion, he’d showered and headed to the Royal.

  The meticulously renovated Royal Hotel was Warragurra’s tribute to the wealth that had once come out of the soil and had ridden on the sheep’s back. One hundred years ago it would have been one of many similar establishments. But the mining boom had faded, wool no longer brought in the money it had and the other hotels had gone. With its intricate wrought-iron ‘lace’ veranda, the detailed mosaic floor in the foyer and the magnificent carved wooden staircase, the Royal had become the place to be seen and the social centre of Warragurra.

  Its management had the happy knack of catering to all tastes, from the easy ambiance of the public bar to the rarefied atmosphere of the dining room. In the summer months there was casual dining on the heritage-listed veranda but tonight’s cool and crisp winter outback evening had forced people inside.

  He pushed open the door to the public bar. On a Friday night he was sure to meet someone he knew for a drink, which would pass the time until he had to meet Penelope in the dining room at eight.

  ‘Linton.’ A familiar voice and a waving arm hailed him as he stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Baden, good to see you. But why are you in a bar, alone on a Friday night? Married bliss worn off already?’ He shook the flying doctor’s hand and signalled to the barman for a glass of merlot.

  Baden shook his head, laughing. ‘No fear, mate. Married life is pretty good. You might want to consider it one day.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Baden.’ The familiar irritation chafed him. What was it about married couples that blinkered them to the idea that there was life outside being part of a couple? If they’d met his parents and seen their divorce carnage, they might not be quite so enthusiastic.

  If they’d experienced Tamara’s complete personality change once the wedding ring had slid onto her finger, they’d be rethinking the entire tradition. Words he’d thought he’d left behind trickled through his mind. I hate you, Linton.

  Looking for a way to change the topic, he spied a gift-wrapped box with an enormous gold bow tied on the top, sitting on a stool next to Baden. ‘Special day?’

  Baden’s blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. ‘It’s Kate’s birthday week and Sasha has organised a surprise party for her. I have strict instructions to be in the dining room at seven-thirty with this present. Kate thinks I’m at the usual Flying Doctors’ Friday night drinks and fundraising pool match. She’s calling in to collect me after picking up Sash from swimming.’

  Baden sipped his beer and chatted cheerfully. ‘You might want to keep a low profile tonight. Most of the base is here and I’m not sure I should be seen talking to you, seeing as you poached our Emily.’

  Linton grinned. ‘You guys need to learn how to look after your staff. All I did was offer her an opportunity to do her Master’s. Besides, she’ll be back with you in a year.’ An unforeseen jag of discomfort suddenly snagged him under his ribs. He automatically rubbed the spot with his hand.

  ‘Baden, you’re up.’

  Despite the noise of the crowd, the clink of the glasses and the pop and hiss of the open fire, Linton instantly recognised that mellow, husky voice.

  He turned toward Emily and caught the moment she recognised him. Her hand gripped a pool cue, which she casually leaned on. Surely he imagined that ripple of tension whipping across her shoulders and down her arm before she gave him her usual broad, welcoming smile?

  He didn’t associate Emily with tension. She was a friendly, country girl through and through. She had no pretensions and was at ease with everyone, no matter who they were or where they came from. She was everybody’s mate. His mate. The sister you could depend on.

  She moved closer and her perfume encircled him, tempting his nostrils to breathe in more deeply. Making his gut kick as the sensual spice curled through him, sending heat spiralling. Sisters don’t wear perfume like that.

  ‘Hi, Linton.’ She gave him a casual, cursory greeting and turned her attention back to Baden. ‘It’s your turn. The kitty’s up to ten dollars.’

  Baden’s expression became apologetic. ‘Sorry, Emily, I don’t have time tonight, I’m meeting Kate in a minute.’ He slid off the barstool and picked up the gift. ‘Hey, Linton, how about you play for me?’ A teasing smile streaked across his face. ‘It gives you a chance to redeem yourself after the whipping Emily gave you at the pool table last time you were on rotation.’

  He caught the shared laughing glance between Emily and Baden. He reacted in high dudgeon. ‘I was being polite the last time I played.’

  The glint of challenge sparked silver in Emily’s grey eyes and she rolled her lush lips inward, as if she was stopping herself from laughing out loud. ‘Polite? OK, if that’s how you want to remember it.’

  He caught the time on his watch. He still had half an hour before he had to meet Penelope. Half an hour to best Emily at pool and put her in her place. ‘You’re on.’

  Baden’s hand clapped his shoulder. ‘Good luck.’

  Emily sauntered to the pool table, chalked her cue and hooked his gaze with a shimmering dare-fuelled look. She then blew gently over the tip of the cue, sending a light smattering of blue powder fluttering into the air, like a nineteenth-century cowboy blowing powder from his gun. ‘Seeing as you let me win last time, I’ll let you break.’

  He chalked his cue and stared straight back her while he blew the excess powder off the tip. ‘Fair enough.’ He grinned as her eyes widened and the cute freckles on her nose wrinkled. She’d expected him to be a gentleman and refuse. Ah Emily, I hate to lose as much as you do.

  He lined the cue up with the triangle of balls. Bringing the cue smoothly through the L of his left hand, it connected firmly and precisely with the white ball, sending it cleanly into the centre of the pack. A loud clack echoed as the balls scattered, skimming across the green felt.

  ‘Nice job.’ Emily walked around the table, winding a strand of hair around her finger as she studied the lie of the scattered balls.

  He bent over in a mock bow. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Actually, I think I should be thanking you.’ She smiled a quiet, knowing smile laced with devilish glee before leaning over the table. She shot two balls into the right pocket.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘Where did you learn how to do that?’

  She spun around and grinned. ‘I spent hours watching the shearers and my brothers. As the only girl growing up on a sheep and cattle station, there wasn’t a lot of choice in the recreation. It was learn to play pool or spend even more time on my horse.’

  ‘But you didn’t just learn how to play, you perfected it into an art form.’

  She had the decency to blush. ‘Well, why play if you’re not playing to win?’

  He leaned in close, ready to tease her, and dropped his voice. ‘Exactly.’

  Her head snapped around so fast that her hair caressed his cheek, trailing her scent across his skin and tantalising his nostrils. He looked down into staring eyes as wide as pools of liquid silver.

  Staring up at him. Staring into him.

  His heart thumped hard in his chest, pounding blood into unexpected places. Disconcerted, he stepped back fast and turned toward the table, lining up the ball too quickly. Without pausing for breath, he took his turn and fluffed the shot completely. Frustration and disappointment collided and he steeled himself against the urge to thump his fist on the table. What had got into him?

  ‘Bad luck.’ Her tone of voice and expression held no sarcasm, only understanding from another sportsman who knew the frustrations of the game.

  She bobbed down and squinted at the ball then stood and leaned over the table, supporting the cue. Her top ro
de up as she stretched out, exposing a taut behind hugged closely by blue denim.

  His palms suddenly became damp and he gripped the cue. Sportsman? There was nothing manly about that derrière. Unlike the loose scrubs, the denim outlined with precision the perfect form that wiggled in front of him, screaming to be cupped by warm hands. His hands.

  ‘Yes!’ She squealed happily as another ball clattered into a pocket.

  He groaned. What the hell was going on? He was being whipped at pool and he couldn’t shift the image of her behind from his head. He gritted his teeth and swung his attention back to the green felt.

  Emily walked to the other side of the table and faced him. As she leaned over again her shirt fell forward, exposing the rise of creamy skin and a touch of lace.

  Both declared treasure below for the taking.

  He breathed in way too fast and coughed.

  Laughing, she glanced up from under her fringe. ‘Old ploy, Gregory. You’ll need to do better than that to distract me.’ She hooked her gold necklace between her teeth, out of the way, and returned to the ball.

  Hell, she had no idea that he’d caught his breath on a tantalising glimpse of breast and a hint of lace. Had he regressed to sixteen?

  He rubbed the tension from his shoulder.

  Her cue wobbled, hitting the ball on the side, missing its target but lining up the high balls for him.

  ‘Damn!’ She stood up and her baggy shirt resumed its normal place and all signs of treasure were hidden again.

  Damn is right. He chalked his cue and threw her a superior ‘big brother’ type of look. The one he knew she hated because she’d told him once or ten times. ‘Now let me show you how it’s done.’ He strode past her and took aim. ‘That’s one.’ He moved to the end of the table and lined up again. ‘That’s two.’ He glanced over at her to see how she was taking it.

  She leaned casually against the side of the table with one hand in her back pocket, which pulled her shirt tight across her chest. He’d stake a bet she had no idea how sexy it made her look.