So it seemed natural to take advantage of those out-flung arms and wrap his around her body, holding her close—a friendly hug—for all his body screamed for more.
They drew apart but somehow were holding hands, and walked across the grass to the brilliant white lighthouse and the squat building that had been the keeper’s cottage nestled beside it.
They climbed to the top and from there looked back over the countryside that surrounded the sprawling coastal city.
‘It’s mainly dairy farms, some cattle properties and plenty of hobby farms, where people keep everything from goats to llamas,’ he told her. ‘There are local markets on the second and fourth Sunday of the month. You’d be surprised what you can buy there. Everything from local wines and beers, to hats, and mats, and guinea pigs.’
‘Well, that’s next Sunday accounted for,’ she said. ‘And next Saturday or maybe on one of my early finish days next week, I want to have a look for a car, just something small to get me to the hospital at night when I’m on call.’
She turned to him and put her finger against his lips.
‘Don’t bother telling me I can always take yours,’ she said, ‘because I wouldn’t dream of it. And, anyway, you might be using it.’
She frowned, as if about to say more, but other people arrived at the top and the moment passed.
Could this count as courting? he wondered as they made their way back to the car, her hand still captive in his.
Such an old-fashioned word, but he couldn’t remember ever being so uncertain with a woman—uncertain how to proceed, wondering whether, if he rushed things, he might spoil what they already had—which had to be friendship.
But if he were to court her, start with occasional dates maybe...
Dear God, it all seemed so infantile when they were both mature people and had already slept together!
But he couldn’t help but be aware of the distance she usually kept between them; her avoidance of an accidental touch, let alone a real one. And instinct told him it was to do with her marriage, her previous experience that had either been so great she’d never stopped loving Nick, or so tricky she didn’t want to repeat it.
Could he ask?
Get her to talk about it?
Not really, when either love or loyalty to Nick would colour her reply. And given the failure of love in his life, he doubted he’d be able to judge which it was.
And, to be honest, he’d been wary of proximity himself—of getting too close, of touching her by accident.
Yet, still hand in hand, they reached the car, and the mood was broken.
‘Nick would have asked me out if you’d won,’ Sam said quietly, and Andy felt his gut clench as the words told him with a stark certainty that Nick was never far from her thoughts.
* * *
Sam used the excuse of needing to shop for food and sort out her new living quarters to turn down Andy’s invitation to spend the afternoon at the local gallery before an early dinner—even just fish and chips by the shore.
The morning had been confusing enough.
Spending non-work time with Andy had been wonderful and having seen more of this beautiful place where she’d ended up had made her delighted with her decision.
But Andy’s hug, the hand-holding had stirred up memories of their night together, and her body ached for more intimacy—for kisses and touches, for being held, and whispered words...
But to get more involved with Andy was really impossible. In Andy’s mind this might appear to be a prelude to marriage and even after three years the M word brought up an image of a black hole into which she’d disappear.
Andy was as different from Nick as it was possible for a man to be, and he’d be a loving, supportive husband and wonderful father to the children she really wanted to have.
But would she change, as she had with Nick?
She didn’t blame Nick for the person she’d become within the marriage because it had been something she hadn’t liked in herself. She’d felt as if she was always trying to prove something, and somehow always failing...
Growing up with only a mother and with no extended family around by which to judge people’s marriages, she’d had no idea she’d find it as overwhelming as she had.
But Andy was different, and having found her way back to being herself again, surely she wouldn’t lose that with Andy.
Would it be a risk?
She’d been lying on her bed while these thoughts had worked their way through her head, coming back now to the fact that it would be wrong to have an affair with Andy because he’d be hurt when she ended it. And, what’s more, she’d have to find another job, as working with him afterwards would be just too hard.
Actually, working with him during an affair would also be hard—the discretion part of it almost impossible, and that, too, would damage Andy more than her.
And wasn’t all this futile? Hand-holding hardly counted as a declaration of love!
She climbed resolutely off the bed, changed into one of her new swimming costumes, slathered fifty-plus sun block all over her skin, pulled on a light shift as a cover-up, and headed for the beach.
An hour battling the waves would chase all these gloomy thoughts away. And, besides, Andy might just have been holding her hand because they were friends.
She slipped on her sandals, slapped on her hat and, with a towel slung over her shoulder, she set off.
Perhaps if she talked to Andy about these things it would help.
Or would she be making a complete fool of herself, if he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her—even attracted to her?
Just because he had been once, it didn’t mean much six years later...
* * *
Hoping an hour out on the waves would clear his head and tangled thoughts, Andy changed into board shorts and a light wetsuit, went back to the garage to get his board from the lock-up section in front of his car, and headed for the beach.
He was sitting on his board out beyond the breakers, hoping for one last good wave to carry him all the way back to the beach. If it didn’t come, he’d paddle into shore, but it was so peaceful and serene out here, he didn’t mind a wait.
The wave, when it did come, was a beauty, and he caught the top of it before it curved into a barrel, crouching on the board to get his body into this green curl of the ocean, exultant as he rode out the other end.
A loud cheer from the beach told him he wasn’t alone, and as he rode the wash of the now-broken wave through to the sand, he realised it was Sam.
‘I didn’t know you could surf,’ she said, then frowned. ‘In fact,’ she added in a puzzled voice, ‘I really know nothing about you—the now you, not the six-years-ago you. I’ve been rude, babbling on about me and my travels, but what of you?’
She’d stretched her towel on the beach and was sitting on it, spreading sunscreen on her arms and legs—long, long, and quite lovely, legs.
‘Who are you, Andy Wilkie?’ she said, smiling up at him as he stripped off the top half of his wetsuit, letting it dangle from his waist, and picked up his towel. ‘And what have you been doing? I know we talked briefly about Boston and our travels. In fact, I read a paper you wrote from there—the dangers of hyperthermia in children, I seem to remember. But the real Andy Wilkie. You’re not married, unless you have a wife tucked away in a cupboard somewhere, so what’s been happening in your life?’
She patted the sand beside her, and when he’d dried off his face and torso he sat down next to her. She’d obviously been swimming, for her hair hung in wet tendrils down her back, and clustered ringlets curled around her face.
‘Did you ever marry?’ she asked, bringing his attention back to what was obviously going to be an inquisition.
‘Got close to it twice,’ he said, and immediately felt guilty that he’d said it so casually—with such a lack of feeli
ng.
But wasn’t it the truth?
‘Wrong women?’ Sam persisted, and this time, looking at her as he answered, he could say truthfully, ‘Maybe I was the wrong man.’
‘I doubt that,’ she said. ‘You’re one of the good guys, but I assume that took up quite a bit of the six years, wooing and winning not one but two wrong women. But there has to be more—a grand passion?’
That he definitely wasn’t going to answer!
‘Several not so grand passions,’ he did say, because he didn’t want her persisting. ‘But fun relationships with no expectations at the end of them. Really, Sam, you must know yourself how hard it is to keep a relationship alive when one, or in my case often both, the parties are involved in either emergency medicine or PICU.’
‘We should have been skin specialists—they hardly ever get called out at night,’ she said, but she was smiling, and he knew her passion for the job they did was as strong as his.
It was time to change the conversation, but he’d missed his chance. Sam was already asking, ‘Were there reasons?’
He looked blankly at her. ‘Reasons for what?’
She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘For neither of the relationships going on to marriage? And don’t talk to me about work pressures. The majority of specialists in all fields manage to make marriage work and the ones who don’t probably wouldn’t have stayed married if they were bank managers or garbage collectors.’
‘Garbage collectors?’ he echoed, and she had to smile.
‘You know perfectly well what I mean! What happened?’
Tell her, or not tell her?
He thought how peaceful this was—or had been—just being with Sam, enjoying her company and the beautiful setting. Medical matters had been the last things on their minds.
So he told another truth...
‘I just wasn’t right for them,’ he said, ‘or perhaps they weren’t right for me. It was a long time ago, Sam, and I’ve settled into a life I’m comfortable with—comfortable in. I like my life just as it is. Work does have pressures, as you know, and to be able to come home and just relax and renew myself is exactly what I need.’
Liar, a voice was yelling in his head, although it was only a partial lie. He really did like his nice, uncomplicated lifestyle.
‘Nonsense,’ Sam told him. ‘You’ve got to get out and about. You’re far too good a man to be frittering your life away on brief romances. You’d make a wonderful father—anyone who sees you with a patient would realise that in an instant!’
He could tell she was winding up towards more marital advice, so it really was time to change the conversation.
‘So now you’ve obviously done all you needed to do in your enormous new living space,’ he said to her, ‘you’ve got no excuse—so how about fish and chips on the beach? I know the best fish and chip shop in Port F.’
And to his surprise she smiled, and said, ‘You’re on! But I like calamari and chips if that’s okay, and I do need to shower and do something to control my hair before we can leave. Will we walk?’
‘It’s not too far,’ he said, his mind racing ahead to the possibility of holding hands—if not on the way there, at least on the way back.
You are nuts, he told himself, but his mind had already moved on to a dark spot at the end of the esplanade that would be perfect for a very chaste kiss...
But right now she was standing up so he picked up her towel, took it a little further downwind on the beach and shook the sand from it before handing it back to her.
She seemed surprised by the gesture but simply thanked him, then wrapped the towel around her body, covering her swimsuit but leaving the lovely length of leg for him to enjoy.
Which he probably shouldn’t be enjoying as much as he was.
‘Are you checking out my legs?’
Sam’s sudden question brought him out of this consideration.
‘Yes, I was,’ he told her, ‘and very lovely legs they are too. And you must remember it’s allowable on Aussie beaches for men to admire women’s legs. It’s one of the reasons we have beaches!’
She laughed and told him he was talking nonsense, but the colour in her cheeks suggested she hadn’t minded it, nonsense or not!
* * *
They did hold hands, and although Sam suspected Andy had used the excuse of helping her up the first steep hill to take hers, she found it was comfortable, her fingers wrapped securely in his, and did nothing to stop the small pleasure.
They ate their paper-wrapped meals sitting on a bench that overlooked the river, dog walkers strolling by, seagulls clamouring around their feet for the occasional dropped scrap.
And they talked of work—Sam bringing Andy up to date on the progress of their current patients, explaining that Ryan had picked up quite a lot and could possibly go home the following day.
‘Although you know him better than I do. So I decided to leave that decision to you.’
She fed her last chip to the clamouring seagulls and crumpled up the paper.
‘Have you enjoyed it?’ Andy asked, and she smiled at him.
‘The fish and chips by the river? Enormously!’ she said.
He grinned at her, sending tendrils of delight threading through her body.
‘You know very well we were talking about work!’ he scolded. ‘Have you enjoyed your first two weeks?’
She turned to him.
‘Loved it,’ she said. ‘And that’s mainly thanks to you for making it so easy for me to fit in.’
He looked at her for a moment, then said, ‘I think you’d fit in anywhere.’
They walked back, Andy leading her to a track that would take them up through the scrub to the top of the hill near the apartment block. But when he stopped beneath a dramatic pandanus palm, and drew her into his arms, she looked into his dimly lit eyes and had to ask, ‘Are you courting me?’
His answer was a light kiss on her lips.
‘Would you like me to?’
She shook her head, unable to really answer that, but she nestled closer to his body, finally pulling away enough to say, ‘I’m not sure I’m good courting material, Andy.’
‘Because?’ he asked, kissing her cheek, then the hollow beneath her ear.
‘I wasn’t good at marriage,’ she blurted out, because Andy’s kisses were tantalising, and her body, as well as her brain, was going haywire. ‘I loved Nick, but it wasn’t enough somehow. And I lost myself somewhere in it. Mum was away, in South America most of the time, but I doubt she’d have been much help, because she’d never been in a long-term relationship. And how could I ask a friend how their marriage worked?’
He kissed her lips again, and before she dissolved into the bliss of being kissed by Andy—which she had done all too recently—she eased away again.
‘Nick wouldn’t have been easy to live with,’ Andy pointed out, still holding her loosely in his arms.
‘That’s no excuse for my failure,’ Sam told him, her voice thick with remembered unhappiness. ‘I just don’t know, Andy.’
He turned, but kept one arm around her waist as he steered them both back onto the path.
‘I doubt you lost of all of yourself,’ he said gently, ‘because to me you’re every bit the Sam I used to know, only wiser, but just as fierce in protection of something you believe is right, and passionate about your patients.’
‘Doesn’t mean I’m good marriage material, though,’ she said gloomily.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘as I’ve already told you, I didn’t even make it to a wedding, so I can’t judge anyone else. But do we have to look that far ahead? What about now?’
Sam was tempted, so tempted, yet still something held her back.
‘We’re colleagues,’ she reminded him.
‘And surely professional enough to keep our work lives separate?’ he countered.
‘So forget about the future and let’s try just for now?’
She wished she could see his face, but the track was narrow and dark so he led her by the hand, about half a step ahead.
Just for now. The words echoed in her head, sounding far too tempting, while somewhere deep inside her body some traitorous little impulse was dancing up and down with joy at the thought of an affair with Andy.
But whether either of them could do ‘just for now’ without someone getting hurt was a totally different question.
They came out on the top of the hill, meeting up with the reality of streetlights, apartment blocks and occasional traffic.
‘You don’t have to decide this right now,’ Andy told her, wrapping his arm around her waist again now they could walk side by side. ‘Just think about it for—oh, a few minutes, maybe an hour?’
He was smiling, sure they’d reached the place he wanted to be, but still caution held her back.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘and, because I’m not nearly as sure as you are about the “professional at work” side of things, I’ll tell you when you knock off tomorrow.’
‘What about when your shift ends, then?’ he said with a smile, and she shook her head.
‘I’m on early, as you well know, and I’m going out to look at cars when I finish work, so we’ll leave it till your shift ends, thank you very much. I’ll even cook us dinner if I can use your kitchen, and perhaps your balcony to eat on.’
She could see his face now, and guessed he was holding back an urge to say he’d look at cars with her, or maybe they wouldn’t need two cars, but he did hold back, and she squeezed his hand.
Maybe it would work out—if only just for now...
CHAPTER SEVEN
One Night to Forever Family Page 10