by Fiona Lowe
But Mia had a pantry that made cooking a joy. He heard the shuddering of the water hammer and then the gentle fall of the shower. Mia had insisted he did not need to stay and had retreated to the bathroom. He was banking on the tantalising aroma ofAsian spices to smoke her out. He tossed the capsicum and onions into the wok on the other burner and wondered if Mia had any wine.
What are you doing? The protective voice that had been part of him for two years roared in his head as an image of cooking for Brooke in their shared kitchen sucked the breath from his lungs.
No, this was nothing like that. This meal was medicinal. He dumped the Hokkien noodles into the wok, forking them free of each other. He couldn’t move past Mia saying, ‘When your number’s up, it’s up.’ It was at odds with the thoroughness he saw in her work—the note-keeping—as if she was determined to get everything right. The two things clashed, making little sense. That was the only reason he’d broken his vow of never asking people why they came to Kirra. As her colleague, he needed to understand.
Understand and keep her safe.
He banged the spatula hard against the side of the wok, the sound of metal against metal ringing in his head, driving out the unwanted words. He didn’t need to keep her safe. Not Mia or any other woman. Women rejected his care. First his mother, then Brooke.
‘That smells good.’ Mia appeared and walked straight to the cutlery drawer, pulling out forks and spoons. Tendrils of damp hair curled around her cheeks, having escaped from the confines of her damp French braid. She looked fresh, clean and sexy.
The vivid memory of her lips against his thudded through him. He snapped off the small gas stove with more force than necessary. ‘If you grab the sweet chilli sauce from the fridge, I’ll serve up.’
‘Done.’ She smiled and opened the fridge door.
With an almost magnetic pull his gaze strayed to her as she leaned forward, reaching into the back of the fridge. Her vest top rose to reveal an expanse of smooth, golden skin. Skin that screamed to be touched, caressed and tasted.
Concentrate. He was here to eat, talk, learn and leave. He filled two large bowls with the steaming concoction and placed them on earthy-coloured, woven pandanus placemats.
Mia sat down opposite him and poured icy-cold water into tumblers. The tension that was so much a part of her almost audibly buzzed like electricity.
He needed her to relax. He tapped the mats. ‘Have you been out to the women’s workshop to see these being made?’
She nodded, her jaw stiff and her slender neck rigid. ‘I went out the other day and Ruby showed me how they boil the pandanus with different roots to get the colours. I couldn’t believe it when she pulled up this spindly, half-dead-looking plant and the root was a vivid red.’
‘Tassie’s verdant green must make this place look like another planet.’ He smiled and wound the noodles around his fork. ‘Did you grow up in Tasmania?’
‘I did.’ She put a spoonful of food in her mouth as her eyes flashed him a challenging look. With a full mouth she couldn’t talk.
First the shower, now the food. She had delaying tactics down to an art form. He sipped his water and waited, hoping Robbo didn’t choose right then to call him.
‘And where did you grow up, Flynn?’ Her voice sounded strained.
Two could play at this game. ‘Brisbane.’ He filled his mouth with food and winked at her.
She coughed and reached for her water.
They ate in relative silence, as if a truce had been called so they could enjoy the meal. The only sound being heard was the uk uk uk song of the frogs.
Mia finally emptied her bowl. ‘Thank you, that was the best meal I’ve had since arriving.’ Her smile softened the strained politeness.
‘You’re welcome. I haven’t cooked in a while so it felt good to be back in a kitchen.’ He finished his final mouthful and put down his fork, deciding to push the issue. ‘I know you don’t want to tell me, but talking can help.’
Mia moved her bowl to the side and fiddled with the edge of the placemat. ‘Have you noticed that the people who say that aren’t the ones baring their souls?’
He thought back to when Brooke had left. ‘Perhaps they’ve been there before you and have learned the value.’
Her gaze flicked over him. ‘You’re not going to leave until I tell you, are you?’
He grinned, trying to take the edge off the tense situation. ‘No.’
She pushed her chair back, the legs screeching against the lino. ‘What can I say? It’s been a bad twelve months.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it. Some years are better than others.’ He knew that only too well.
‘Yeah.’ She stood up and took the bowls into the kitchen.
Every part of him wanted to stand up and follow her but he stayed put. She needed some space. You need the space.
He also needed to understand. ‘And this bad year makes you believe that life is just directed by fate?’
She stilled at the sink and then turned slowly, her eyes chillingly empty of emotion. ‘Why not believe that? Who has control over what happens? I sure don’t.’
The harshness of her words tinged with her pain hit him like a blow to the chest. He spoke quietly, trying to be the voice of reason in an emotional whirlpool. ‘We all have some control. We have choices, we make decisions that—’
Her strained voice cut across his. ‘My mother and brother died this year. I sure as hell didn’t choose for that to happen.’ She reached for a packet of chocolate biscuits, ripping the package open and slamming it onto the bench. ‘Just like I didn’t choose for my father to drop dead of a heart attack when I was sixteen. If I could control things, then none of that would have happened and I would still have a family.’
Defiantly, she crossed her arms and tilted her chin. ‘So, yes, sue me for not being scientific like you but I think fate plays a big role in my life.’
Her words rained down on him like a flood of pain and circled his heart, lapping at his professional distance. He gripped the edge of the table to keep himself seated. To keep him from going to her and hauling her back into his arms, and stroking away her grief.
To keep himself safe.
Safe from making the same mistake again with a woman.
Mia bit her lip and stared at Flynn, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. Would he stop there? Would he accept her explanation and not ask how or why her mother and Michael had died? Accept that grief had made her act so foolishly today? She hardly dared breathe.
‘Mia, you’re right, you’ve had a bad year and I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ He rose slowly to his feet, his face full of empathy but tinged with steely determination. ‘But…’
The tiny word hung in the air, its sound always ominous. She swallowed hard and kept her gaze on him, as if staring him down would stop him asking any more questions.
He cleared his throat. ‘But as much as you miss them, you have your life to live. They’d want you to grab hold of every day and live it to the full, without taking stupid risks that could end it all too early.’
It’s going to end up that way no matter what I do. She bit off the words that roared in her head and pushed them down, refusing to think about them. ‘Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.’
A muscle twitched in his neck as his forehead creased in a frown. She glimpsed a flash of something in his eyes that said her laid-back doctor wasn’t so at peace with the world as he wanted everyone to believe.
He opened his mouth to speak but the shrill ring of his phone interrupted.
She spoke first. ‘That’s Robbo, right?’
He checked the display and nodded. ‘I have to go.’ His eyes, full of concern, caught hers. ‘Will you be OK?’
Please, stop being so caring, it’s all too hard to resist. She walked him to the door. ‘I’m fine.’
He hesitated at the threshold. ‘Mia…’
She put her hand on his back, her fingers meeting taut muscle and corded tendons. ‘Go.’ She pushed him ge
ntly out the door, her fingers wanting desperately to grip his shoulder and haul him back.
*
Mia pulled into the clinic car park half an hour later than expected, dreaming about a cool shower followed by a tall iced drink of soda water and lemon. But she knew that the daydream was as close as she was going to get to either of them for a few hours. Although it was Saturday, she was behind in the stock take and ordering, and if she was to have the drugs she needed come Monday, she had to fax the order to Darwin today. Then she had to mow the clinic grass, grab a shower and be at the church by four for Susie’s eldest daughter’s wedding.
She glanced down, grimacing at the mess that was her clothes and was thankful it was Saturday and no one was around. She ducked into the staff entrance. Flynn wasn’t due in for an hour, not that time meant anything to him but she could be pretty certain that he wouldn’t be early. The second clinic truck was still parked so his plane hadn’t landed.
She pulled open the door, crossed the threshold and walked straight into a solid wall of muscle.
Flynn.
Her hand shot out and gripped his upper arm, as much to stop her knees from buckling as to steady herself.
‘Hello.’ His smiling greeting vibrated with deep laughter as his keen hazel gaze roved lazily from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. ‘You’ve been having some fun, lying around. When did you dye your hair red?’
Mini-explosions of heat detonated inside her as his stare touched and torched every part of her. Every red-dust-covered part. Heat morphed into a fire of longing which streaked through her, pooling deep inside her, stalling her brain and reducing her leg muscles to quivering jelly.
‘Someone took the tarpaulin out of the truck and I had to change a flat tyre out on the Bathurst road. The only way I could get to the spare tyre was to crawl under the truck.’ She tossed her dust-impregnated hair in her best attempt at a haughty look, but her lips twitched in a smile. ‘Only a man could decide it was a great idea to put a spare tyre under a car where it gets covered in filth.’
Dimples carved into the dark stubble on his cheeks. ‘At least it isn’t the wet season, although they tell me mud is great for the skin.’ His voice dropped to a low rumble. ‘People pay to get covered in the stuff.’ He leaned forward and pulled a twig from her hair, his fingers gently brushing her scalp.
White lights flickered in front of her eyes and an image of Flynn, naked and covered in mud, stole all coherent thought. Somehow she made her feet step back, away from his aura, away from his scent of sunshine and soap, and away from temptation.
‘I’m off to mow the grass so I’m just going to wash off a bit of dust so I can put on sunscreen.’
He grinned. ‘Oh I don’t know, the locals will just think you’re ready for a ceremony and you overdid it on the red.’
She put her hands on her hips in mock indignation. ‘Ha-ha, very funny, turtle man. I believe the indigenous ceremony is tomorrow after the church service.’
His easygoing grin slid off his face and his cheekbones suddenly seemed stark and pointed, giving him a hard look. ‘What church service?’
She couldn’t hide the disbelief in her voice and she knew her expression must be one of stupefaction. ‘Susie’s daughter’s wedding.’ She threw up her hands. ‘I swear blokes just tune out. How could you have forgotten? It’s all Susie’s been talking for the last few weeks. That’s why you’re back this weekend, right, instead of being on Barra?’
A muscle twitched in his neck and then he smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘That’s right, it’s at four o’clock. I was just testing you.’
Testing she’d remembered? A spasm of fear gripped her before her rational brain overruled it. No, surely not. He had no idea about her mother and inherited fronto-temporal dementia. He was probably just covering for his own memory lapse.
‘You better get going, then, if you want to beat the bride to the church.’ The words came out crisp and efficient before he turned and walked down the corridor.
She made her way into the bathroom, her brain buzzing. What was that all about? One minute he was flirting with her and the next he’d closed down. Perhaps he’d been embarrassed that he’d forgotten the wedding? She wouldn’t have thought that would have embarrassed him but, then again, she didn’t really know what made him tick.
But she knew he made her body quiver with longing.
A couple of weeks had passed since Flynn had cooked her dinner. Since he held you in his arms. She sighed against the thought she’d tried so hard to let go of, but couldn’t. Her dreams were full of Flynn—his firm arms around her, his taut body against her, his lips seeking her lips—and she woke up hot, bothered and aching with unfulfilled need for him.
She loved and hated the dreams in equal measure.
She quickly filled the basin with warm water and pumped soap into her hands, squishing it between her fingers. Flynn flew in and out of her life and had in a few weeks turned it completely upside down. She loved being a RAN on Kirra. It was everything she needed and wanted—remote and working solo having been the key attractions. But when Flynn was on the other islands she found herself counting the days until he returned to Kirra.
His arrival always generated a lightness inside her, a sense of anticipation and excitement that she’d never expected to experience again. He brought a shining light into the darkness that had been her past year. She craved that lightness. She craved him.
He gave you comfort, that was all. His arms around her after the incident with Joel had been the act of a caring man, a colleague and perhaps a friend. And that was all it could ever be because she was a walking time bomb and no man wanted her. Steven had been proof of that.
She sloshed water onto her face and up her arms, and watched the dust turn it the colour of rust. She stared into the mirror as rivulets of water left streaky marks on her face. Flynn hadn’t tried to kiss her again. Since that night he’d been nothing more than a colleague.
She reminded herself that this was a good thing and she should just accept it and move on. But her thoughts kept returning to the glimpse of hurt she’d seen in his eyes just before he’d gone to the police station.
He kept his own counsel. She realised that he’d never mentioned his family and he didn’t take off to Darwin once a month like most of the other non-indigenous community workers did to meet their girlfriends, boyfriends, wives and family.
And yet he was very much a part of the Kirra community, well respected and loved. He coached the kids in footy, he was ‘turtle man’. He belonged in so many ways.
Her first image of him as a maverick crocodile hunter, a stand-alone guy, clashed with the caring doctor and the enthusiastic community member she’d got to know. Good men like Flynn were usually married with adoring wives and gorgeous children.
So why wasn’t he?
‘Mia, I need a hand.’ Flynn’s voice called her name from the treatment room.
She grabbed a towel, dried her face and hands, pulled a patient gown over her filthy clothes and went back to work.
‘We’ll have you feeling better soon.’ Flynn tousled the hair of nine-year-old Alice and kept a smile on his face as he inwardly sighed. He could have her feeling better soon but making her better was a different thing entirely.
The sick young girl looked at him forlornly as she lay on the examination couch, her knees up under her chin.
‘What’s up?’
He glanced up as Mia walked into the room, her face scrubbed clean of outback dust and her cheeks pink with good health. The familiar rush streaked through him, the one he got every time he saw her, even when she was filthy and bedraggled. Dirt couldn’t dim her innate beauty and neither had her grief.
It was a tough gig, losing your family in one go. He assumed it had been a car accident. But despite her loss she still managed to glow with a life-affirming energy and it radiated from her eyes, her mouth, the sway of her hips…
He ran his hand through his hair. He’
d been convinced he could shut out his attraction but Mia had moved into his mind, taken up residence in his thoughts and dreams, and despite numerous resolutions to move her out he’d been pathetically unsuccessful. He’d resisted beautiful women before but Mia was different. Strength and vulnerability—he found the combination captivating.
But it had to stop.
He’d hated it that he’d flown back to spend the weekend on Kirra because of Mia, completely forgetting about Susie’s daughter’s wedding. Had his mind been more focussed he would have stayed on Barra this weekend, like he’d originally planned.
It was a lapse like this that really drove home that the time had come for life to go back to normal, to the uncomplicated way it had been before Mia had arrived.
And it started now with a teaching session. The moment that was over, he’d create a reason to fly to Barra. No way was he going to stay on Kirra for the wedding.
He beckoned Mia forward with his hand. ‘I want you to examine Alice and tell me what you think she has.’
Mia’s large blue eyes blinked in puzzlement. ‘Is this a test? Something you’re expecting me not to know?’
He grimaced. ‘There’s every chance you won’t have seen this down south.’
‘Is her mother with her?’
‘No. Her uncle brought her in and he’s outside.’
‘And he won’t be able to come in.’ Understanding washed across her face and she walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a worn teddy bear in green scrubs. Then she returned to their patient. ‘I’m Mia, Alice, and I’m going to have a look at you. Would you like to hold my doctor bear while I do it?’
Alice stared and then extended her chubby hand, grabbing the bear and clutching it tightly to her chest.
As Flynn expected, Mia started by taking the child’s temperature with the ear thermometer.
‘It’s high. Thirty nine point four.’ She immediately recorded it on the chart. She then examined Alice’s glands, and checked for eye and nose discharge. Turning to Flynn, she said, ‘There’s some evidence of nosebleeds.’
Flynn nodded. ‘Every sign builds a diagnosis.’