How could someone he’d known so briefly feel so right in his arms? How could her surrender feel so right?
It was as if his world was changing yet again, a seismic shift, a shift where his heart felt it could stretch again.
And with that thought...
‘Doc? You still out there?’
It was a voice from behind the screen door. Roscoe.
‘I have Col’s daughter on the phone from Sydney,’ Roscoe was calling. Heaven knew whether he’d seen what they were doing, but his voice sounded prosaic. Matter-of-fact. ‘We left a message earlier when we couldn’t raise her, but she’s called back now. She wants to speak to you. If you aren’t busy.’
And in those last four words Tom heard a trace of humour. So they’d been sprung. Great; it’d be all over the hospital—all over the town—by the morning.
‘Roscoe...’ He pulled reluctantly back from Rachel. His hands still held hers. He was still half in wonder.
‘Shall I tell her you’re busy?’ Roscoe boomed, laughter surfacing.
‘Go,’ Rachel said, and finally she tugged her hands from his. ‘I... I need to go myself. Goodnight, Tom and...thank you.’
And before he could stop her she’d turned and headed down the steps, onto the track to the cottages. He let her go—there was no choice—but he stood and watched as she made her way into the dark.
‘She’ll be all right by herself,’ Roscoe said as finally he turned to go back inside. ‘She’s a woman who’s used to coping alone.’
How much had Roscoe seen?
‘You need to get home yourself,’ he said abruptly. ‘If that baby of yours doesn’t arrive in the next couple of days...’
‘Yeah, change the subject, why don’t you?’ Roscoe said, smiling. ‘But you’re right. Moving on. It’s what we all have to do.’
* * *
What had she done?
Kissed Tom Lavery, that was what she’d done. Started an affair with a man who was technically her boss? Who was lumbered with three children he didn’t want? Which was total anathema to her, after everything she’d taught herself.
She walked steadily down the track to her cottage, achingly aware of the man she’d left behind. It was all she could do not to run.
One kiss does not make an affair. She told herself that, and then, when she was sure she was out of earshot, she said it out loud. ‘It was a kiss, nothing more. Heaven knows how many women he’s kissed.’
But her...
She’d kissed—or been kissed—before this. Of course she had, but every time she’d pulled away. She didn’t want the complications that went with any type of relationship.
But tonight she’d almost invited the kiss. He hadn’t pushed himself on her. He’d asked and she’d agreed.
Because she’d wanted.
And that was what scared her most. She, Rachel Tilding, had suddenly wanted more than anything in the world to be kissed by Tom Lavery. And when that kiss had happened...
Her fingers crept to her lips. They felt full, swollen, the taste of the kiss still with her.
She wanted more?
‘No!’ she said out loud too, as the ramifications of what she’d done hit home. She was stuck in this place, as was Tom. She had no doubt that if he’d been back in Sydney he wouldn’t have looked twice at the likes of her.
Had he kissed her because he felt sorry for her?
She reached her cottage, stepped inside, locked the door behind her and then leaned against it.
She was suddenly shaking.
‘Get over it,’ she told herself. Who needed a shrink when she had her own inner voice telling her what was sensible, telling her what she had to do to cope? ‘It was just a kiss. Don’t make a big deal of it. If you don’t make a fuss, neither will he. Move on. Stay separate. To act like it was anything else would be...needy.’
And she wasn’t needy. She was never needy.
But still she leaned on the door until the shakes subsided. Until she had herself back together.
Until she knew quite definitely that such a thing would—could—never be repeated. Her boundaries were up again, and they needed reinforcement.
So...
She made herself a mug of tea and headed to the internet, downloading a pdf of the latest research into post-polio syndrome. One of the elderly farmers she’d seen in clinic today showed every sign and she needed to research.
Work. Study. Medicine. It was her escape, her salvation—the only thing that mattered.
Tonight had changed nothing.
CHAPTER SIX
TOM HADN’T EVEN made it to bed before the phone rang again. This time it was Roscoe, and his voice was about an octave higher than his normal gruffness.
‘It’s Lizzy.’ Tom could hear his voice shaking. ‘I’ve just come home and she’s in full labour. She didn’t want to worry us when she knew we were concerned about Col, but contractions are five minutes apart. Hell, Doc... We’re coming in.’
He didn’t bother to wake the sleeping Rose or the boys, just headed back to the hospital, praying things would go okay.
He hated delivering babies here. Without specialist backup, with so far to travel to the nearest paediatric services, he felt incredibly alone. Shallow Bay mums were advised to stay in Ferndale or go to Melbourne or Sydney a few weeks before their due date, but they hardly ever did. The impossibility of leaving families, of paying for accommodation... They preferred to put their faith in Tom.
Which made him feel sick with responsibility. Births meant two patients, not one, and if things went pear-shaped one doctor wasn’t enough. At least he had Rachel now, and he headed back to the hospital praying he wouldn’t need her.
Roscoe Junior, however, gave no cause for grief. He arrived just before dawn, informing the entire hospital of his displeasure at his eviction. Exhausted, aching for sleep, Tom walked back outside to face the morning.
Rachel was walking up the track towards him.
He saw her hesitate for a moment, pausing as if regrouping. And then she deliberately start walking again. A new day, a new attitude?
It didn’t feel like a new day, and the memory of that kiss was still with him.
‘Good morning,’ she said formally, and he answered her in kind.
‘Good morning to you too.’ Their greetings somehow seemed like the set-up between fencers as they prepared to duel. En garde.
‘Trouble?’ she asked as she reached the veranda. She’d be taking in the fact that he looked like a train wreck. He needed a shower, clean clothes, sleep. But Rachel’s tone was professionally interested, nothing more. The emotion of the night before was obviously in the past.
‘Roscoe has a son,’ he told her. ‘Born an hour ago. Still protesting. All’s well.’
‘That’s great. I’ll check on them both at ward round.’ She smiled but it wasn’t the smile he remembered.
She was back to distant.
‘They’re okay. No stitches. A straightforward birth, thank God. Lizzy’s tired but happy. Roscoe’s dazed and proud fit to burst. Bub’s great. There’s not a lot for us to do.’
‘Sleep for you,’ she said. ‘I’ll take over.’
‘If you would. I need to relieve Rose and let her go home. I’ve promised Kit he can come home today. I’ll bring the boys up with me to collect him later.’
‘And then spend the rest of the day supervising?’ Her brow creased. ‘It’s Saturday. No school. No childminder. No sleep?’
‘I can cope without it.’
‘We do what we have to do,’ she said enigmatically. And then she took a step back and looked him over, making no pretence that she wasn’t doing a full assessment. ‘You look like something the cat dragged in.’
‘Thanks,’ he said dryly. ‘Is that a medical diagnosis for free?’
‘Yes and you’re welcome. You n
eed to do something about it.’
‘So what should I take, Dr Tilding? Any free advice while you’re at it?’
‘Rest.’
‘Like that’s going to happen.’
She chewed her lip in the way he was starting to recognise. As if she was weighing up options. ‘If you fall over you’re no use to anyone.’
‘I’ve had these boys for a year and I haven’t fallen over yet.’
‘That’s like jumping from a high-rise and shouting “I’m okay so far” on the way down.’
He sighed. ‘Rachel, there’s not a thing I can do about it. At least you’re here now. The weeks since your predecessor left have been hell, but knowing you can share the medical stuff is wonderful.’
‘That’s what I’m paid for,’ she said bluntly, but she was still looking at him with doctor’s eyes. Eyes that were seeking information. Eyes that fronted a medical mind, used to diagnosing and making decisions based on facts.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Here’s your treatment regime.’
‘You’re giving me a treatment regime?’
‘I am, and I’m not even charging you for it. And before you get any ideas that this is a personal favour—or even anything to do with last night, which it assuredly isn’t...’ She hesitated and bit her lip. ‘Tom...you know last night was an aberration.’
‘An aberration?’
‘That’s right. Not to be repeated. I’m treating it as a warning and so should you. This morning I’ve woken up perky and ready to move on.’
‘Perky?’ he said faintly. He looked at her, in her black trousers and long-sleeved shirt, her curls tugged tightly back with a simple band, her businesslike pumps—and he thought perky wasn’t the word he’d use for her. And then he thought... Perky’s under there somewhere.
Maybe that was the Rachel he’d kissed last night.
But that Rachel wasn’t here now. This Rachel was all business.
‘You know darned well that if you’re exhausted you make mistakes,’ she told him. ‘And as your colleague I’d be sharing them. So, because of that, and only because of that, I’m offering to take the boys this afternoon. Only if I’m not caught up here, though,’ she added hastily. ‘We both know there are no guarantees in this business. But it’s Saturday so there’s no clinic. I’ll do a ward round and there are two house calls outstanding but after that I should be free. So the plan is that as soon as I’m available I’ll take the boys to the beach while you sleep. Kit should be right for that, no?’
‘He should,’ he agreed faintly. ‘The stitches are out. Salt water might even help.’
‘There you go then. Sorted. You do the kids’ morning shift and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Rachel...’
‘Yes?’
He had to say it. ‘The boys... They think you’re a bit severe. They might not want to come with you.’
That set her back a bit. For a moment he saw a trace of grimness in the set of her mouth, but she moved on briskly. ‘Are you giving them a choice? I can handle kids. Tell them to expect sausage rolls and chocolate cakes.’
‘Sausage rolls and chocolate cakes...’ he said faintly, thinking about timelines. ‘How...?’
‘I’ll make mini microwave chocolate cakes while I have lunch,’ she told him. ‘I have pastry in the freezer. I can buy meat on the way home from house calls and sausage rolls are a snap. My splinter skill, Dr Lavery, is cooking. And, severe or not, I’m not into scaring small boys. Yes, I was forceful while I stayed with them, but the house was a muddle and they had Rose to do the warm and cuddly. I was there to work. So you can tell them that it’s me and the beach or me glaring them into silence in your living room while you sleep. So, Dr Lavery...agreed?’
To say he was disconcerted would be an understatement. Here, when he’d least expected it, was another of her extraordinary offers.
She’d said she wasn’t cuddly and she wasn’t. She was prickly, defensive, damaged. And yet it wasn’t exhaustion that had impelled her to touch him last night. It wasn’t exhaustion that had made her want to melt into him.
She’d stepped in today for purely practical purposes. He accepted that. He was so weary he was at the point where any medical decisions he made would be suspect and, as his colleague, Rachel’s offer could be seen as purely practical.
And yet... He looked at her, a neat, compact, efficient, self-contained—and cute—package, and he thought of all the effort that had gone into putting that package together. He’d read her scholarship application. She’d left school at fifteen with no support, working while studying online. How she’d made the grades for medical school was a miracle all on its own. And suddenly there were questions all over the place.
And, before he knew what he was about, he asked, ‘Rachel, why did you decide to be a doctor? It must have been so hard. What made you want it so much?’
The question was totally divergent from what they’d been talking about. He’d taken them both aback. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ she demanded, and he struggled to find an answer.
‘Nothing,’ he told her at last. ‘I just... Well, I want to know.’
For a moment he thought she’d brush him off, push the question aside, head into the hospital to the relative sanctuary of work. He was starting to know this woman now. Medicine was her haven. Would she retreat to that now?
But, strangely, her chin was tilting upward and her eyes met his in challenge. There was a moment’s silence while she thought about it and then she answered. With a challenge.
‘You first.’
What the...? How had that happened? One moment they were saying good morning, the next moving to the intensely personal? And he’d started it.
So, how to answer?
That he’d been bright academically. That it had pleased the grandpa he’d loved. That he knew medicine would challenge him—and he also knew it made money? That he liked rescuing things, fixing things.
He could say all those things and they’d be true. But Rachel was watching, and he was suddenly aware that there was a deeper truth—and maybe she deserved it.
It was a truth that he’d hardly acknowledged to himself, but it was tucked away in the recesses of his memory and under Rachel’s challenging gaze it suddenly resurfaced.
‘When I was eight years old I was staying here with my grandparents for the school holidays,’ he told her. ‘Grandpa took me with him to do a house call, up on the ridge. The dad had had a tractor accident and was recuperating, so it was a simple house call for Grandpa and I was sent out to play with the kids. Then one of the littlies ran into the bush and met a brown snake. He stood on it and froze—and he was bitten. Not once. Several times. He collapsed almost straight away and by the time Grandpa got antivenom on board it was too late. He died within half an hour.’
‘Oh, Tom...’ Her eyes were still on his face. She didn’t look horrified, though. She was a trained doctor. She’d have seen enough tragedies to stay calm in the face of such a story.
He was trying to match her calmness as he told her.
For some reason he’d never talked of it before. Why should he? After all this time he should hardly recall it himself. So why?
‘It was the type of tragedy you and I have both seen and Grandpa was a doctor with years of experience,’ he told her. ‘And I scarcely knew what death was. Us kids were hustled out of the way by a neighbour who’d heard the screams and come over to help. I was aware that something big had happened, but I had no concept of its enormity. But I remember Grandpa’s face as we drove home. Tight. Hard. He used to chat to me all the time but there was no chatting that day. And then, halfway home, he suddenly pulled over, cut the engine, put his head on the wheel and sobbed like a child. I remember him sitting there, his whole body shaking, and for me it was like the world was imploding. This was Grandpa. A rock. Grandpa, who could fix ever
ything.’
‘The best of us crack sometimes,’ Rachel said neutrally, but softly, and he thought...hadn’t her own adults let her down? And how much worse was the way they’d done it?
He wanted to make this about her—but he’d started the story and he had to finish.
‘I don’t know how long he cried,’ he told her. ‘It seemed an age but it was probably only minutes. Finally he pulled back and mopped up and turned to me. I have no idea how I remember it so well, but I can still hear him.
‘“Tom, there are always tragedies in life. There are snakes and accidents and illnesses with no cure. We have to accept them. But Tom, if you can make a difference... If I’d had antivenom with me today instead of having to get someone to bring it up... If I’d had the skills... Tom, I don’t know what you’ll do with your life but today you saw what happens when the resources aren’t there. No matter what you do—baker, banker, artist, whatever you decide to be—just think about what difference you can make. If you’re a banker give loans to people who need them. Make bread that’ll make people feel like they’ve had a feast. Paint paintings that’ll make people smile. Because you never know. Make a difference, Tom, and that’s all I’m going to say.” And then we drove on and we never talked about it again.’
Silence. She was studying him, her face impassive. Still assessing? ‘So medicine...’
‘That day stayed with me,’ he said simply. ‘All the other reasons—knowledge, money, interest—they were the obvious reasons but there was always that day.’
Enough. What was he doing, talking like this, exposing himself? It must be weariness, he thought.
‘Anyway, that’s me. Now you.’
‘Money?’ she said quickly—too quickly. ‘Security. All the things I never had as a child.’
‘So why not law or commerce?’
Her chin tilted again, as if in defiance, and he thought, She’s not going to tell me. The armour’s back in place.
But she didn’t look away. They stood facing each other in the weak morning sunlight, and it was as if there was some sort of invisible line between them. Or two lines.
Rescued by the Single Dad Doc Page 9