Falling for Her Wounded Hero

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Falling for Her Wounded Hero Page 13

by Marion Lennox


  What was she doing, thinking she could start again?

  She couldn’t.

  She had an appointment with the IVF clinic in six weeks. The prospect had been so huge it had terrified her, but the seed of hope had flared and grown.

  And now...one night of passion and one stupid shawl had shown her how stupid that hope was. She couldn’t be brave. She’d had the brave crushed out of her.

  She had no courage left.

  ‘Tasha, you look terrified.’ Tom was watching her, worried for her, reaching for her, but she backed away.

  ‘I’m not. At least, I’m not as long as I can get away. Tom, you’ve been the best friend but now... I don’t want this to go further and in your heart I don’t think you do either. I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s you or the cats, and it’s time I was sensible. I choose cats.’

  ‘I’m scared, too,’ he said, almost as if he hadn’t heard her, and she blinked.

  ‘I said I wasn’t.’

  ‘I know you are. Like me. We’re peas in a pod. Tasha, I’ve spent my life thinking guys who married and remained faithful for the rest of their lives had some sort of gene that was missing in my family.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It turns out I was wrong. It turns out it was just that I hadn’t met the right woman.’

  It should have made her melt, but how could she? She was holding herself rigidly under control, clinging to the knowledge of past hurt. ‘I’m not that woman,’ she managed.

  ‘You’ve been burned. First by my idiot half-brother. Second by the loss of Emily, though the loss of your parents has to be in the mix there as well. You don’t trust love, just as I didn’t. But it’s past tense, Tasha. I trust it now. You can choose to trust me or not...’

  ‘How can I do that?’

  Silence. The room was deathly still. It was as if the weight of the world was right above their heads, ready to descend.

  Tasha was feeling ill.

  Trust. Her heart was crying for it, longing for it, aching for it as if there was a void in there that only trust could fill.

  She could take this one step...

  And fall into the arms of Tom Blake. And try for another baby.

  And let the whole disastrous cycle start again.

  And her heart clenched. She could almost feel it shrivel at the thought of what could lie ahead if she fell into the arms of this man.

  She’d hurt so much...

  Cats.

  ‘I’m...I’m leaving,’ she whispered. ‘Please, Tom, don’t try and stop me. If you keep pressuring I won’t be able to stay at Hilda and Rhonda’s. I’ll have to go away completely.’

  ‘Are you so afraid?’

  And finally she gave him the truth. ‘Yes,’ she said, openly and honestly. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘You can’t take a chance on me?’

  ‘I can’t take any more chances. I’m being sensible.’

  ‘So sensible means we stay alone for ever?’

  ‘I know how much it hurts...’

  ‘So you’ll teach me?’ Anger was obvious now, raw and exposed. ‘I’ve finally met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, but she’s scared I might betray her.’

  ‘Tom...’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said fiercely. ‘I won’t. But of course you’re right, I have no evidence to back that with. You’ve judged me on my father and on Paul...’

  ‘I’m not...’

  ‘There’s no need to go on,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve said enough. I care about you, Tasha, but I have nothing more than my word to prove it. So I can’t prove it. We’ll leave it there, then. We’ll work out the nuts and bolts of how we plan the workload later. You’ve made your choice. Go and live with cats.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I THINK WE can safely say you’re all right to drive again.’

  Of all the things he’d been hoping for, this should have been the biggest. Sally had just performed intensive neurological tests. She’d pushed him every way she could. His left leg was still weaker than the right. He still had a slight limp. His fingers didn’t flex instantaneously but they were pretty fast. In these last four weeks he’d pushed himself to the physical edge and now he was reaping the rewards.

  He was cured. Well, almost. Recovery from cerebral damage was slow. His brain was making new neural pathways. He still had a way to go before he could balance well on a surfboard again, but essentially his body could almost be classified as normal.

  He should be over the moon.

  He walked out of the physiotherapy clinic and missed Tasha.

  She still came with him occasionally, but she’d ceased joining in. She sat on the sidelines, silently, reading a book, pretending she wasn’t watching. Anger still vibrated between them. It felt as if they’d betrayed each other. A normal friendship was impossible.

  She hadn’t come today. Darryl and Louise Coad had turned up at the surgery to discuss their worries about their elderly mother. Tasha could have put them off until tomorrow, or she could have asked Tom to see them later—they were, after all, his patients—but instead she’d welcomed them.

  ‘Of course I can see you. Tom, can you ask Karen to drive you?’

  She’d sounded almost relieved, which was the story of their lives right now. She didn’t want anything more to do with him than she had to.

  Her fear left him feeling angry. Why couldn’t she trust when he’d made such a leap himself?

  ‘Why the black face?’ He’d been sitting in Karen’s cab, silent, his thoughts grim as Cray Point’s taxi driver took him home. ‘I would have thought you’d be on top of the world,’ she said. ‘Great report from your physio. And, hey, did you know the solicitors have put a freeze on Ron’s assets? Iris should be set for life. There’s also a question about the legality of Ron’s financial dealings. Some of those documents we copied are red hot. The local cop says we might end up with Ron facing charges other than assault and battery. How cool’s that?’

  ‘Really cool,’ Tom said, and tried a smile, but Karen looked sideways at him and grimaced.

  ‘You got it bad, huh?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t what me. The whole town knows you’re loopy over Tasha. We all know why she moved out and we’re all really sorry. And now you’ve recovered, she can leave and we’ll be stuck with your sorry face for the rest of our lives. Whatcha going to do about it, Doc?’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ he said explosively. ‘She loved my half-brother and he was a toe rag. She lost her baby. How do I persuade her to trust again?’

  And there it was, out in the open. He’d said it. He sat back, aghast, feeling more exposed than he’d ever felt in his life.

  Karen didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, at least for the moment. It took her a good two minutes before she opened her mouth again and even then it wasn’t to impart wisdom.

  ‘Guess flowers and candles and Hilda’s casseroles won’t work on this one, hey, Doc?’

  He almost lost it. He gritted his teeth and they drove on in silence.

  When finally they pulled up outside the surgery he had himself under control—almost. ‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘Put it on my account.’

  ‘Sure thing, Doc.’

  ‘And don’t go saying—’

  ‘I don’t need to. The whole town knows. Tasha’s looking as grim-faced as you. I don’t know why we don’t just knock your heads together and be done with it.’

  ‘And put us both back into hospital with cerebral bleeds?’

  ‘Not funny, Doc,’ she said. She paused. ‘You know Rhonda and Hilda and their dad will be back on Sunday. If you’ve got your driving licence back and they’re wanting their house, what’s to stop Tasha from leaving?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Except a small grave up on the h
ill, but that wouldn’t hold her, he thought.

  And he couldn’t hold her.

  ‘Think of something, Doc,’ Karen said urgently. ‘There must be some way...’

  ‘Leave it, Karen,’ he said heavily, and slammed the taxi door and headed up to the house.

  He limped. When he concentrated he no longer limped but he wasn’t concentrating on his leg now.

  He was thinking of nothing but Tasha.

  The post box was full. He grabbed it as he went past, and riffled through. He wanted something—anything—to distract him, but there seemed nothing out of the ordinary. They all looked like specialist letters sent after referrals, all like the dozen or more he sorted at the end of each day.

  He poured himself a beer and settled down to read. Work... It was the only way he could think of to get his head away from where it most wanted to be.

  * * *

  Rhonda and Hilda shared a picturesque cottage in the centre of town. It was cute to the point of twee, filled with mementos of lives back in England, husbands now gone, shells collected over years, pieces of driftwood, china ornaments, cats past and present.

  Tasha was currently sitting on the back step overlooking a hundred or so pot plants. Cats were twining through her legs and her eyes were watering.

  She wasn’t noticing. She was staring in horror at a small white stick.

  A stick with two red lines in the centre.

  How had this happened? How?

  She’d been a bit queasy yesterday and the day before. And tired. Then she’d woken in the middle of the night thinking dates. Thinking horror.

  This morning she’d lost her breakfast.

  She tested herself at the surgery and told herself it must be a mistake. She’d pleaded that it was a mistake. Then she’d worked all day, thrusting it on the backburner.

  She’d just tested herself again.

  If she was asked to describe her feelings right now, she couldn’t. Of all the dumb, terrifying, catasmotic—was that a word?—things to happen...

  She was pregnant with Tom’s child.

  One night.

  They’d used condoms. Of course they had—they weren’t kids like Benny and Kylie. They’d stopped before things had got out of hand. They’d decided—like mature adults—to go ahead but to be careful.

  She’d been sensible. Tom had been sensible.

  Okay, they might have been in a hurry...

  This was too big. Her head couldn’t take it in. She was staring at the red lines until they blurred.

  She was exposed again. She was totally, absolutely out of control, when she’d made a conscious, intelligent decision to stay in control. She’d moved out of Tom’s house four weeks ago and she’d kept her distance. Even if her heart did give this crazy hammer every time she saw him, she had it under wraps. She was being sensible.

  Rhonda was due home tomorrow and Hilda and their dad soon after. She’d intended to stay on in their guest room, work here for a couple more weeks until she was sure Tom could cope, and then go... Where?

  It didn’t matter. She’d intended to start looking at job offers soon. Somewhere busy, she’d thought. Somewhere demanding where her head didn’t have to think.

  Of Emily. Or Paul. Or her parents.

  Or betrayal and loss.

  Or Tom.

  She’d written to the IVF clinic and asked them to destroy the last vials of Paul’s sperm. She had no use for it. She knew she didn’t have the courage to start again.

  The plastic stick in her hand with its red lines made a mockery of every single decision she’d made.

  She felt dizzy and more than a little sick. Her hands went instinctively to her belly.

  A foetus.

  A baby.

  ‘Tasha?’

  Of all the people she most didn’t want to face right now it was Tom. She gasped as she saw him appear at the back gate. Her hand instinctively dropped and she let the small white stick fall through the planks between the steps.

  Somehow she forced a smile.

  He was wearing his customary jeans and ancient T-shirt. He was smiling at her just the way she loved him to smile.

  Tom.

  The father of her baby.

  She thought she might faint.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He knew her well, this man. He opened the gate and came towards her, looking worried, and she made a huge effort and summoned a smile to greet him.

  ‘H-hi. Yes, I’m fine.’ And then she thought he wouldn’t believe that. She knew she’d lost colour. ‘I think I ate something at lunch,’ she told him. ‘I did a house call on Bert Hathaway and he insisted I try one of his homemade sausages. It’s been sitting like a lump of lead in my stomach all afternoon.’

  ‘He makes great sausages.’

  ‘Says the man with a cast-iron stomach. Do you know how much chilli he puts in those things?’

  ‘That’s why I know they’re safe. No bug could stand the heat. Are you vomiting? Need a nice injection? I’m just the man for the job.’

  ‘I’m sure you are but no, thanks.’

  ‘And I have the all-clear to give as many injections as I want,’ he told her, smiling down at her. ‘As of today I have my driving licence back. I’m classified normal.’

  That was good—wasn’t it? She was so confused her head was having trouble operating her tongue. ‘Your arm and leg still aren’t what they should be,’ she managed.

  ‘I’ll keep on with the rehab,’ he told her. ‘But I’m improving every day. Thanks to you.’

  ‘Just because I’m bossy...’

  ‘Sometimes a man needs bossy,’ he said, and sat down on the step beside her.

  She didn’t want him to sit down. She wanted to get up and run.

  The sun was almost down. The sky was tinged with the gold of a truly amazing sunset. Grass parrots were settling in the gumtrees around the house, squawking as they fought for the best nesting perch. A cat was purring across her feet. Two more were prowling under the steps.

  She was sitting on the back step with the man she loved with all her heart, and all she wanted to do was run.

  ‘Tasha,’ he said gently, and her heart did a back flip.

  ‘I... Yes.’

  ‘A letter came to the surgery today,’ he told her. ‘It was addressed to Dr T. S. Blake. I’m T. R., but I didn’t notice. It was in a pile of specialist letters. They all look the same and I didn’t even think. I opened it and read it before I realised. I’m sorry.’

  And he flipped a letter from his back pocket, tugged it open and handed it over.

  It was a formal letter from the IVF clinic.

  Dear Dr Blake

  We have received your letter advising us that you wish us to cancel your appointment and dispose of the sperm held in your name. To do this, however, we need you to complete the attached legal documents.

  You are required to have the forms witnessed...

  Please return the forms to...

  Documents were attached. This was the formal acknowledgement that she wished never to have a child.

  That she wished for no more pain.

  She held the letter in her hand and watched the letters blur, as the lines on the pregnancy test had blurred moments ago. Her head felt like it might explode. She wanted to shrink into nothing. Disappear.

  ‘I guess Paul used your married name when he deposited the sperm,’ Tom said helpfully from the sidelines. ‘Though I would have thought they’d use your full name.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, because she couldn’t think what else to say.

  ‘You don’t need to apologise.’ He put a hand over hers. ‘Tasha, was this decision because of us? Were you intending to try for another child and cancelled because of what happened between us?�


  ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’ Except it was. Now it was.

  ‘I can’t bear it,’ he said at last. ‘That I hurt you...’

  ‘You didn’t hurt me.’

  ‘I know I wasn’t meant to read it,’ he said. ‘But this letter tells me you’d made the decision to try again for a baby, and now you’ve cancelled.’ He shook his head. ‘Tasha, they attached a copy of your letter. You wrote it the day you moved out of my home.’

  ‘I should be grateful,’ she whispered. ‘I’d forgotten how much love hurts. All you did was remind me. This decision is all about me, not about you.’

  ‘Tasha...’

  And then he paused, his attention caught by what was happening at his feet.

  Two cats had been snooping under the steps where they’d been sitting. They were agile, curious Burmese, ready to play with anything.

  Neither Tasha nor Tom had been paying them attention but they’d been playing with something. Batting it forward.

  Now one creamy paw batted their plaything out from the narrow opening under the bottom step. The cats had to go sideways to get out, so for a moment their toy lay untended.

  It was a white plastic stick. It showed two red lines facing upwards.

  Tasha couldn’t move. She sat frozen as Tom reached forward, almost idly, as if it was of no importance at all that he was picking up a pregnancy test stick and reading the results.

  The cats yowled their protest that their toy had been taken from them. The parrots kept on squawking overhead. The surf was a faint hush-hush in the background.

  All Tasha heard was white noise. The world spun. And then Tom was pushing her head down between her knees, holding her, supporting her while she decided whether to retch or faint—or do nothing.

  Nothing was safest. Nothing was what she wanted most in the world.

  Tom sat silent and let her have her nothing.

  It couldn’t last. Of course it couldn’t. She sat, head bowed, while Tom ran his fingers through her curls and the silence between them built to a crescendo.

 

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