‘Your mother wanted you to have it, didn’t she? She left it to you. And as for it being too big, you’re bound to have a family eventually.’
Lachlan raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Am I? I don’t think I’m the type to marry, settle down and have children. At least, I’ve no plans in that direction. Keep your options open, I say!’
So just like Colin, then, play the field, never give yourself completely, thought Christa grimly. Love and commitment didn’t seem to be in their vocabularies.
Lachlan watched her expression and said quietly, as if in explanation, ‘Marriages that break down can have a devastating effect on a family—I know that. Never give promises you may not be able to keep.’
Christa bit her lip. He was probably referring to his own parents’ marriage, and it certainly seemed to have affected him deeply, to the point of him leaving his home. Her own father had died some years ago, but he and her mother had had a very happy and loving marriage. Christa’s childhood had been idyllic, and although it had been horrible when her father had died, her mother had borne her sadness with stoicism and had taken up new interests and made plenty of friends.
Lachlan rose from his chair and walked over to the fire, standing with his back to it.
‘Talking of families—what about you? I can’t believe that there hasn’t been someone special in your life.’
He was bound to find out sooner or later, because Colin dumping her for someone else wasn’t a secret. That was part of the heartbreak, it being so public. Everyone in Errin Bridge had known they were an item. And then everyone had begun to realise that he had been playing the field at the same time as dating her—everyone except her, of course, cocooned in her safe little world of romance and love.
‘There was someone once, not any more.’ Christa’s voice sounded casual—too casual, as if she was making a deliberate effort to make a broken love affair sound of no consequence. Lachlan’s blue eyes looked at her astutely.
‘You had a bad experience, then?’
‘Like loads of people, it didn’t work out. End of story,’ she said flatly.
‘It’s never the end completely, though, is it?’ murmured Lachlan. ‘Hard to switch off from loving someone with all your heart to feeling nothing at all for them.’
‘Very perceptive of you.’ She shrugged. ‘I learned something from the experience, and I realise now that Colin and I wouldn’t have been right for each other anyway.’
Lachlan frowned. ‘Colin...?’
Christa shrugged. ‘Colin Maitland—the one you used to go fishing with when you were a little boy. He worked at the practice for a while.’ She added flippantly, ‘He did a pretty good impression of a rat while I was going out with him.’
‘He’s always had a reputation,’ growled Lachlan. ‘Now, there’s a man I thought would never settle down to marriage. You told me he was married now, didn’t you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Christa gave a mirthless laugh. ‘He found her while he was going out with me—the word’s “two-timing”, I think.’ She rose from the sofa and went over to Lachlan and picked up the photo on the desk. ‘This was him on his wedding day.’
Lachlan took the photo from her and looked at it, then said slowly, ‘Why did he marry this girl if he liked to “play the field”, as you said?’
‘Because Paula became pregnant, and she’s the daughter of the MP for this area. As a local doctor Colin’s name would have been mud if he’d abandoned her. But it was a shock, I can tell you, when I heard about the engagement from someone else—not from Colin!’
‘What a sod. How long had you gone out with him?’
‘About two years. I was mad about him—and I thought he loved me too.’
The words hung in the air, bleak and heartbreaking, revealing only too well the story of shattered dreams. Christa gave a shaky little laugh. ‘I’ll never be so naïve again!’
‘Did you go to the wedding?’ he asked softly.
‘No. That was something I couldn’t bring myself to do. So he sent me that photo.’
‘As if to show you what you’d missed out on? What a bastard!’ He frowned. ‘Why on earth do you keep a photo up of the man on his wedding day?’
Christa looked at the floor, twisting her hands together, and whispered after a short silence, ‘Because...because I needed to remind myself every day that he wasn’t worth crying about...but it didn’t seem to work...’
Something in the catch of Christa’s voice made Lachlan look closely at her. She had bowed her head, but he could see a tear rolling slowly down the curve of her cheek, and then she put up a hand and brushed it away impatiently. In an instant his arm was round her shoulders, hugging her to his body and wiping away her tears with a handkerchief.
‘Christa—sweetheart. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, to stir up old memories. What a dolt I am!’ He rocked her backwards and forwards as one would to comfort a child, stroking her hair gently. ‘He’s always been a selfish sod, out for his own pleasure, never mind who he tramples over. Perhaps that’s why we lost touch.’
‘It’s not your fault I’m upset,’ snuffled Christa, blowing her nose and shaking her head. ‘I’m an idiot to cry over the man. The thing is, the week before he married Paula he came round and begged me to go back to him.’
‘But he was engaged to someone else. How the hell could he do that?’ Lachlan looked down at her, and a flicker of amused sympathy flickered in his eyes. ‘Is that the reason I overheard you say you wouldn’t get married for a million pounds?’
A wry smile touched Christa’s lips. ‘Can you blame me?’
‘Of course I don’t. And since then there’s been no one?’
She shook her head and looked up at him with some spirit. ‘Absolutely not! I can do without men and sex for quite a few years, thank you very much—too much hassle!’
He chuckled and looked down at her with dancing eyes. ‘That’s my feisty girl,’ he murmured, giving her a comforting squeeze. ‘But I wouldn’t put a time limit on your celibate life, it’s a hell of a long time to be lonely.’
She laughed back at him, with a sudden feeling of release in having told her sad little story. Lachlan was right, she couldn’t condemn herself to singledom for years just because a man had hurt her in the past. She relaxed against him, and his arm around her felt comfortable, safe.
‘Perhaps you’re right...’ she murmured. ‘Maybe I should live a bit, play the field. Enjoy life!’
He stroked her soft cheek. ‘You can’t live in the past, Christa, or let the darned man ruin your future.’
In the background the wood fire crackled and Titan snored slightly in his basket. The atmosphere was warm and intimate, just the two of them together. They smiled at each other, then gradually something changed between them and the smiles faded. They were so close—standing hip to hip, her soft breasts pressed against his body, his face so near hers she could see the little grey streaks in his hair, smell the male smell of him, the clean, soapy freshness of his body.
Of course it wasn’t the first time Christa had felt that dangerous thrill of attraction towards Lachlan Maguire—she’d tried to suppress it then, but now it was like a red-hot flame flickering treacherously through her body, unstoppable. And as he held her close with his arm around her, she was only too aware of how much he wanted her as well. She knew exactly what was going to happen—could see the dark need that mirrored hers in his eyes.
Was she crazy to blank out the loneliness of the past two years by making love to a man she knew wasn’t in the market for any emotional attachment, someone she’d known for a bare two weeks, for heaven’s sake? But, then, she was under no illusions about Lachlan Maguire. He’d told her he didn’t believe in lasting love. She was going into this with her eyes open. And, hey, she wasn’t into commitment any more either, was she? She just wanted to be desired, to have fun once more.
He was still stroking her cheek gently and she put her head against his chest. ‘Lachlan...’ she faltered. ‘It’s be
en so long. I think I’ve almost forgotten how to...’
‘Oh, no, you haven’t, sweetheart,’ he said huskily, and lifting her face to his he brought his mouth down on her full, tremulous lips, kissing them softly at first and then more demandingly.
And whether it was the uninhibiting influence of the wine, or because she had just unburdened herself to him, Christa threw caution and sense to the winds, and it felt natural and right that she should wind her arms around his neck, arching her body against him in instant response, opening her mouth languidly to his. Her insides liquefied with longing, her heart beating a mad tattoo in her chest. Two lonely people and no strings attached, fulfilling a mutual need. Wasn’t that what she wanted? The bitter memory of Colin’s betrayal faded into the background.
Lachlan gazed down at her in the half-light of the room, examining her face—the black lashes fringing those wide, amber eyes, her full, soft lips and the tendrils of hair across her forehead.
‘Christa,’ he whispered raggedly, ‘you are so bloody delectable. When I came back, I didn’t expect to find someone like you around.’ He wrapped his arms around her tightly and put his forehead to hers. ‘You do know where this could lead, don’t you? Do you really want this to happen? Will you be sorry later?’
And she almost laughed because surely it was too late to have second thoughts with his hard frame clamped around hers and every erogenous zone in her body demanding release that very moment. She felt as if she were on a wave of euphoria, light-hearted, free of the sad thoughts that had plagued her when she’d thought of Colin.
‘Of course I want it to happen. I want it very much.’ She held back from him for a moment, her eyes dancing. ‘Is this what you meant by being “friendly colleagues”?’
His face split into a grin. ‘Certainly—if you want to interpret it like that,’ he murmured.
Lachlan pulled her gently down onto the sheepskin rug on the floor and unbuttoned the silk blouse and the wispy bra she was wearing. Then he tore off his shirt, and his hard and demanding body was on her soft skin, his lips trailing down to the little hollow in her neck, his skilful hands exploring her most secret places, arousing her to fever pitch.
And suddenly Christa realised she hadn’t forgotten what it was like to make love, and somehow it was more marvellous than she ever remembered. She ignored the tiny seed of doubt that hovered at the back of her mind—could she really live for the day, keep her feelings for Lachlan as casual as he wanted to, after what was happening?
* * *
Afterwards they lay curled around each other, and Christa fell asleep in Lachlan’s arms. He watched the embers of the fire flickering and their shadows on the wall, and the most incredible feeling of happiness swept through him. He looked down at her face against his chest. God, she was beautiful—her skin as soft as a peach and those large expressive eyes that were a running commentary on her feelings.
He’d certainly never led a celibate life—plenty of girls had given him every encouragement, but no one had awoken in him this strange and sudden tenderness he felt for Christa, or moved him like she had. Dammit, this wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? This was meant to be a light-hearted romp, neither of them committing to the other...pure lust on either side. And yet it didn’t seem to be working like that for him at all. What should have been a one-off, ships-that-passed-in-the-night scenario felt like just the beginning, the start of something precious and exciting.
Only a day or two ago he’d vowed that Christa was the last person he should become involved with—not just because of their families’ entwined histories but because he wasn’t going to be ruled by his mother’s wishes and ever ask Christa to marry him. And he still believed that, didn’t he? Then he thought of the photos he’d found in his mother’s desk and their poignant words on the back: My darling son.
An ache for something once cherished and lost for ever overcame him. Perhaps after all his mother had only wanted the best for him—and yet he still shied away from that complete commitment to another person, was still sceptical of the ‘Till death do us part’ bit. He’d seen how breaking vows could lead to broken lives.
Christa stirred in his arms and opened her eyes, looking into his, and smiled sleepily.
‘Hello,’ she murmured. ‘That was...wonderful, wasn’t it?’
He held her close to him and kissed her tousled hair. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Quite wonderful.’
* * *
It was late, very late, when Lachlan left. Christa walked slowly through the living room into her bedroom, her heart dancing with a happy excitement she hadn’t felt for a very long time. She saw the photo of Colin on his wedding day, and picked it up, looking at it scornfully.
‘I don’t need the memory of you any more, Colin Maitland,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve my own life to lead now, without your shadow hanging over me.’
She dropped it in the waste-paper basket and went to bed. Christa enjoyed the best sleep she’d had for many weeks.
* * *
Alfie Jackson sat bellowing loudly on his grandmother’s knee in front of Christa. His eyes were round and frightened behind wire-rimmed spectacles and his mouth a large wide ‘O’. He was three years old and dressed in a policeman’s uniform, the helmet sitting crookedly on his head. He looked utterly adorable, and completely inconsolable, holding one hand tightly in the other.
‘So what happened, Mrs Pye?’ asked Christa loudly above the noise.
Mrs Pye, plump and flustered, said helplessly, ‘I feel so guilty. I’m supposed to be looking after the little lad today—my daughter’s got this interview for a part-time job this afternoon. I was getting Alfie ready for a party and he opened a cupboard to get something out and then slammed it on his finger! It looks so sore and I don’t know what I can do...’
Alfie turned and buried his face in his grandmother’s ample bosom, sobs shaking his little body. In between the sobs could be heard the words ‘Not my fault...the door hurt me!’
‘Of course it’s not your fault, Alfie!’ soothed Christa. She came round the desk and bent down beside him. ‘Won’t you just let me have a little peep at this poorly finger, sweetheart?’
Predictably, more screams and Christa sighed inwardly. It had been quite a gruelling day, including a quick dash over to see the old shepherd, Fred Logan, who’d developed a urinary infection and had been taken to hospital. He’d needed a lot of persuasion to do that! Dealing with a frightened child in great pain was going to be even more difficult. She pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a small toy car, wound it up and placed it on the floor, where it proceeded to flicker and whirr, with lights flashing on and off as it whizzed round the room.
‘Look at that, Alfie—look!’ cried Christa, above the child’s sobs.
A very quick peep from his grandmother’s bosom, and then a more prolonged stare as the toy banged into the wall, somersaulted and started off again. In those few seconds Christa managed to prise Alfie’s hands apart and saw for herself the little boy’s blackened nail and swollen finger, incongruous on that small, chubby hand.
She winced. ‘That is one sore little finger,’ she said to Mrs Pye.
‘I suppose it’ll have to be drilled, won’t it, Doctor? Oh, dear, I don’t think I could bear to watch...’
‘I can do something much more quickly and more accurately than that,’ Christa assured her. She lifted the internal phone and pressed the button for Lachlan’s room. ‘Have you got a minute? And a match or a lighter?’
In the few seconds it took for Lachlan to appear Christa had taken a needle out of a packet and a pair of tweezers from a box in her drawer. Mrs Pye looked nervously at her.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to take Alfie to hospital and give him an anaesthetic?’
‘If we can release the pressure now, before the blood begins to clot, it will be instant relief. By the time you get to hospital it would be too late to do much,’ explained Christa.
Lachlan came into the room, his imposing figure somehow
reassuring, his eyes taking in the scene at a glance then coming to rest on Christa. Their gazes locked for a heart-stopping moment, but even in that moment she could read the messages of desire and need in his eyes, the memory of Lachlan’s body moulded to hers, his hands caressing her, bringing her to fever pitch coming back to her in graphic detail... What a difference a night had made! A rush of adrenalin flickered through her, made her pulse start to race.
She was brought back down to earth as Lachlan turned to Mrs Pye and Alfie, and said briskly, ‘‘I thought I could hear a young man in pain over the intercom. What’s happened?’
Christa pulled herself together, almost ashamed that she’d allowed thoughts of their lovemaking to intrude on her professional life.
‘Alfie’s got a subungual haematoma on his finger,’ explained Christa succinctly.
Lachlan winced. ‘Ooh, poor little chap, that’s very nasty. But, as Dr Lennox has no doubt told you, we’ll soon have him right as rain again. Here’s the matches. I pinched them from the kitchen.’
‘Now, Mrs Pye, I want you to hold Alfie very firmly,’ instructed Christa. ‘I’ll hold his hand and if we keep it steady, it’ll take literally a few moments.’
Mrs Pye gave a faint squawk of horror. ‘I hope I don’t faint,’ she quavered, her eyes on stalks as she watched Christa strike a match and Lachlan hold the pin with the tweezers in the flame until the tip of the pin glowed red.
Alfie redoubled his screams, but Christa held his hand in a vice-like grip while Lachlan pressed the red-hot pin firmly onto the blackened fingernail. There was a slight hiss and a faint trace of smoke as the pin burnt through the nail and a tiny globule of blood appeared through the hole.
Christa bound the small finger with a gauze strip. ‘I can guarantee that it’s hardly hurting at all now. Am I right, young man?’
A few residual sobs from Alfie, and then he looked down at his covered finger. ‘Is it better now?’ he asked.
Return of Dr Maguire (Mills & Boon Medical) Page 9