by Margaret Way
“No…it doesn’t.”
She turned, her heart doing cartwheels at the tone of his voice. There was something tumultuous between them now. A flash flood of desire, building to torrents. It expressed itself in the tautness of his expression, the glitter in his eyes.
Sarah heard the whoosh of her own blood in her ears. She couldn’t have moved, even if she’d wanted to. He had such power about him. Marvelous male strength, strong bones, rippling muscle. Sexuality. As always, she was reacting to his nearness, the tingle in her breasts, the knife-edged pain, near-ecstasy…
“I want you, Sarah.” The backs of his fingers stroked her cheeks, heating her skin. His hand sank lower, weaving through the neckline of her dress, over the supple skin of her shoulder, down to the curve of her breast, its rose tip already flared into life.
Then he found her mouth, his tongue slipping into the slick interior. She opened her mouth fully to him, allowing him to explore at will. It was all so voluptuous, so sensuous, the cause of bodily weakness and a measure of pain. Whatever he wanted, she couldn’t resist him.
His hands continued to smooth and caress, down over her back and her buttocks, her muscles contracting at his touch.
They stood together, he taking her mouth, his hand teasing the hemline of her skirt, then lifting it on a muffled exclamation, as though her dress presented an intolerable barrier. The panties she wore were soon off, a silken slide to her feet, until she moved to step out of them, swaying. It was a tyranny of the senses, the wild sweet fever that burned through her veins.
His fingers entered her and she found herself spreading her legs, eyes tightly shut against the ecstasy that was sucking the breath from her lungs. She thought in an erotic frenzy she might come. Or was he commanding her to come?
“Kyall!”
“You want me. Tell me.” His voice, little more than a rasp, was as forceful as she’d ever heard it. A demand, not a question.
“Yes. Oh, yes.” She bowed her head, struggling against fainting.
“Is that the truth?”
“God, Kyall, I can’t bear it. Yes!” She could scarcely cope with her own explosive desires.
While she stood, he fell to his knees, his strong arms twined around her, locking her to him in a kind of exultation. Her body opened to him. To his hands, to his fingers, to his mouth, to his tongue.
“My beautiful Sarah! My most beautiful Sarah!”
She heard her own convulsive intake of breath, then her hands clutched his glossy dark head, cradling it to her body as he began to kiss her.
It was exquisite. Yet it made her writhe as though surely she were in pain. Her heart seemed to have slipped from her breast down the smooth shallow slope of her stomach to her inner core.
She couldn’t think. She could only feel, welcoming and trusting in the glorious bonfire of the senses that only he could ignite. Her whole body was flushed with heat, spirals and spirals of descending, licking flames.
She could no longer stand, rendered helpless and in danger of losing all sense of herself. It was then that he lifted her, laying her on the soft sand, watching her face as he removed what garments were left to her.
The brilliant sunlight outside the cave sent a golden play of light across her naked body. He savored it, loverlike. How long had he wanted this woman?
It might have been forever.
CHAPTER NINE
FAR FROM TREATING snake bites, spider bites and the odd tourist with sunstroke as her former boss at Waverley Medical Centre had suggested, Sarah found herself pitched headlong into medical dramas. In Brisbane she’d often diagnosed chest pains, earaches, sore throats, nosebleeds if they hadn’t stopped within thirty minutes—on one occasion it was the sinister messenger of leukemia—fractures, simple and compound. But during her very first week in Koomera Crossing, a young woman was rushed into the hospital in agony from what Sarah quickly diagnosed and confirmed as a life-threatening ectopic pregnancy. Surgery was the only means of rescue, in this case leaving the young woman without one of her fallopian tubes. In the afternoon, just as the hospital had settled into routine procedures, she dealt with a bad dingo bite, which necessitated a tetanus booster and a course of antibiotics. There was a boy who’d fallen from a tree, tearing his leg open. Then a man working on an outlying cattle property presented with a long steel pole rammed through his leg, thigh and buttock. When the junior nurse, Cathy Moran, saw the patient with the pole still in him, she let out a piercing scream. Sarah had just admitted a small Aboriginal child who’d been suffering from diarrhea for more than week and badly needed salt and fluid administered intravenously. She had to speak to Cathy quite sharply to restore the young woman to her senses.
But it did look pretty horrifying.
“What on earth happened?” Sarah asked, turning to the emergency worker who’d brought in the impaled man.
“Poor bugger drove straight through a gate,” the worker explained, himself in a state of shock. “The pole ripped through the front of the truck and went straight into his leg and his bum. He’s been damned brave, I can tell you, Doctor. He’s a bit out of it now, but he was conscious and quite calm while we cut him free.”
Sarah bent to the patient. “We’ll x-ray this, then go straight into surgery.” She straightened from her hurried examination, pleased to find an attentive theater sister by her side. “It’s a miracle, but the pole appears to have missed all his bones and major arteries. A little more of an angle and it would’ve pierced his groin.”
“Bet he won’t drive through a locked gate again,” the worker said. “The sight will haunt me until my dying day.”
“Thank God he’ll live to tell the tale. Thank you for all your efforts.” She looked at the worker closely. “You’re a bit pale. Why don’t you go to the canteen and have a cup of tea?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Doctor.” The worker fixed her with a grateful smile.
“This man, you know him?” Sarah asked.
“Sure. Bob Duffy.”
“He’s married?”
“Wife and four kids. Someone let her know. She should be coming to the hospital fairly soon. Bit of a drive.”
“Fine.”
As it turned out, Mrs. Duffy didn’t bother driving all the way in to the hospital. Her husband regularly had accidents. You name it, he’d fallen over it. It seemed terribly uncaring at the time, but as Sarah was to find out, Mrs. Duffy had been under the impression that “the pipe” was about as thick as a little finger and maybe a foot long, not a terrifying two-inch-thick nine-footer. When she did finally arrive the next morning, it was to find her husband sitting cheerfully in bed, holding the souvenir pole like a great didgeridoo.
Mrs. Duffy fainted.
The following day brought a sadder case. A young father, a bush worker, drove his three-month-old son to the hospital only for Sarah to declare the baby dead on arrival. Baby, hitherto healthy, had been found facedown in his crib. The mother had known her child was dead, but the young father had refused to accept it, jumping into his truck and driving to the hospital. Even when Sarah explained to him as gently as possible that, for reasons still not understood, one in a hundred babies stops breathing in the first few months of life, the father appeared to have difficulty taking the tragedy in. Very gradually Sarah was able to calm him, in the end sedating him against his grief. Eventually the young mother, too, was brought in having temporarily lost the power of speech.
And it didn’t slow down. On one of the stations a calf kicked a seven-months-pregnant woman, who went into labor. A helicopter was dispatched from Wunnamurra Station to bring the young woman in. She gave birth in the hospital, the first child Sarah delivered there. A pallid, sickly little creature Sarah privately despaired of, but with an extended period spent in hospital and a good deal of expert care, he was destined to turn into a bright, chubby little boy.
Looking back over a month of battling injuries not common in the city but frequent in the bush, Sarah felt secretly thrilled that she’d acquitt
ed herself well. She’d worked long and hard, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. There was no question that the town had accepted her. She need not have worried they wouldn’t. She appeared to have everyone’s support and approval, and it meant a great deal to her. Added to that, she got on well with the staff, who showed genuine concern for her well-being. Once she’d been part of this town’s life. Now she was back. She loved the country-hospital atmosphere, immensely grateful that bush nursing sisters, double-certificated or not, had become accustomed to doing practically everything, including domestic duties when the paid domestics had a break. Life at the hospital was all about pitching in.
Six weeks later, Sarah had moved into the Sinclair house, despite Kyall’s objections. Nothing and no one bothered her. Soon afterward, her assistant arrived. Dr. Morris Hughes, a fine-looking man in his late sixties, exuded energy, kindness and humor—and showed an understanding of life that Sarah responded to from the moment they met. She and Dr. Hughes would get on. A blessing because “getting on” was extremely important. Dr. Hughes—“Please call me Morris”—had retired from private practice in Adelaide, but after eighteen months of missing his working life with its high level of responsibility and commitment, he decided there were still a few years of doctoring left in him.
Kyall had gone out of his way to fly to Adelaide to conduct the brief face-to-face interview, other negotiations having gone well. The next day, he flew Dr. Hughes into Koomera Crossing and settled him in Joe Randall’s comfortable bungalow. The following morning, Kyall arrived by station helicopter to take the doctor to the hospital to meet Sarah.
“Let me tell you a few things about myself, Sarah,” Morris Hughes said when they were all seated in her office, waiting for morning tea. “I’m a widower. I lost my wife, Anne, to breast cancer when she was only fifty-six. It was a dreadful blow. I felt that as a doctor, I should’ve been able to save her, but in the end I couldn’t. I haven’t been able to form a relationship since. I loved Anne so much. I have two sons, both doctors. One’s a cardiologist, the other a pediatrician.”
“Dr. Patrick Hughes?” Sarah raised a brow. She knew a doctor of that name by his outstanding reputation.
Morris leaned back in his chair and smiled. “My boy Pat!”
“One of the finest pediatricians working today,” Sarah said warmly. “I’ve read all his articles with the closest attention. And you’re his dad! Your sons must have inherited their love of medicine from you.”
Morris inclined his gray head. “We both know it’s a difficult, daunting and heartbreaking profession. But there are undoubtedly rewards when you can help along the way.”
“Morris himself has an excellent reputation,” Kyall said, standing up in response to the soft tap on Sarah’s office door. “Many thanks.” He took the tea tray from the junior nurse, whose expression of adoration made Sarah smile.
“Here, Kyall.” Sarah indicated the cleared space at the side of her desk before turning back to Dr. Hughes. “I’m sure you have, Morris,” she said, knowing Kyall had thoroughly checked out the doctor’s credentials. “I’m so pleased you’re here. You’ll take a lot of the pressure off me. It’s a long way from the City of the Churches.” Adelaide, capital of South Australia, was famous for the large number of its beautiful churches. Sarah smiled and began serving the tea.
“That’s fine by me,” Morris replied, his sherry-colored eyes quietly relaxed. “My boys live and work in Sydney. They’re both so busy I don’t get to see much of them or the grandchildren. I’m in excellent health, touch wood, and I find myself wanting to work again. The outback isn’t quite a new experience for me. I’ve done a good deal of travel out here in my time. Uluru, the Olgas, the Alice, Kakadu and the Kimberley.”
“Then welcome aboard, Morris.” Sarah gestured with one hand. “Oddly enough, I’ve found myself with far more doctoring to do here than in my former practice in Brisbane. Your wanting to join me has come as a great relief. I’m very grateful to Kyall and the McQueen family for everything they’ve done for this hospital.”
Kyall’s eyes lit on Sarah with a faintly mocking look. There had been no warming of relations between Sarah and his grandmother. His mother, though, had shown a lot of courage in defying Ruth, calling in on Sarah every time she came to town. “What we need to do is have a party to introduce you to Koomera Crossing,” Kyall decided, giving the older man a smile. “Maybe a week from now. On Wunnamurra. There are some pretty interesting people in this town, even if it is off the beaten track.”
“Good Lord, yes.” Morris Hughes surprised Sarah and Kyall by responding so enthusiastically. “Like that quite wonderful woman I met this morning. Miss Crompton, headmistress of the school?”
“Harriet.” Sarah smiled. It was plain that Morris Hughes had liked what he’d seen. “Kyall and I adore her. She taught us both until we went away to boarding school. She’s touched many people’s lives in this town. We couldn’t do without our Harriet. She’s a woman of culture.”
“And she’s a musician? Viola?” Morris Hughes’s eyes rested on Sarah with open interest.
“You did get to talking, didn’t you.” Kyall laughed, thinking there was a start of a friendship there.
“Such a tremendously alive woman,” Morris said happily. “She was passing the house by chance this morning. I was on the porch waiting for Kyall, and Miss Crompton stopped to introduce herself. She reminded me a bit of my Anne. Clever, funny, sensitive. I’ll be delighted to meet Miss Crompton again.”
And we’ll do our best to encourage it, thought Sarah, wondering if Harriet’s ears were burning.
Afterward Sarah excused herself for a few moments to see Kyall off. “Does it need to be at Wunnamurra?” she asked as they walked down the short flight of stone steps to the pavement.
Kyall held her by the arm. “I think so, yes.”
“Sweet Lord! This is a setup, isn’t it. You want to bring your grandmother and me together.” Sarah wasn’t sure she could handle it.
He met her gaze, fully aware of her insecurities. “Don’t worry about it, Sarah,” he said briskly. “Remember that McQueen money built this hospital. And we’ve got a magnificent homestead that no one seems to visit anymore. That’s got to change. But yes, you’re right. I do want to try to bring you and Gran together.”
She sent him an ironic look. “It’s hopeless, Kyall. If your grandmother could have me annihilated, she would. Some things one just can’t change. It’s the same in medicine. You do everything possible to change the outcomes for your patients, but sometimes they never get better.”
For a moment he didn’t speak, wanting nothing more than to gather her into his arms. Today her long, golden hair was drawn back into a thick single rope he longed to untwine. “At least relations between you and my mother have improved.”
“They have,” Sarah answered. “Your mother extended her hand. I was happy to meet her halfway. She must get an unpleasant reaction from your grandmother whenever she visits—if your grandmother even knows about the visits.”
“She knows,” Kyall confirmed. “My mother, if she ever frees herself of Gran’s domination, could be a woman of substance.”
“Odd,” Sarah mused. “Your grandmother’s whole purpose in life seems to be having all her demands met. I expect she’s being unpleasant to you, too.”
“Not really.” He flashed her a smile, half amused, half wry. “She lets out the occasional nasty remark, but it’s like water off a duck’s back. Gran’s never been able to dominate me. She’s aware of that. She can’t cut me out of my inheritance, either. It’s all tied up, and Gran is merely the custodian. Wunnamurra will pass to me. If I want to give a party for Morris, who seems a good, generous man, I will. That goes for marrying you, as well. I can take only so much of this situation, Sarah.” His expression tightened. “We can’t just coast along. I want you with me. Hell, the wanting is making me frantic. Sometimes I wish…”
“That you didn’t love me?”
He pulled on her thi
ck plait. “I’ve loved you from childhood. But I have no talent for this waiting. When you told me all those years ago that you wanted no part of me anymore, I used the only defense I had. I tried to forget you with other women, but the memory of you never let me alone. Now that terrible period of our lives is over—and you can’t close the door on me again. I want to get married and have our child,” he said with finality.
Sarah’s face paled. “You promised you’d give me six months.”
“Why can’t we get engaged in the meantime?” he demanded.
“How your grandmother would detest that!”
“Are you afraid of her, Sarah?”
“I’m afraid of what she could do.”
“Like what? Come on. We’ve had this conversation before. We go around and around, but there’s a mystery here. What could she do to you?”
“The word attack comes to mind.”
He gave her a searching glance. “God, Sarah, you can’t mean a physical attack? She’s never done anything like that in her life! She’s seventy-five years old.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Sarah couldn’t help her reaction. Ruth McQueen would be a force to be reckoned with right up to the end. “If your grandmother can find some way to hurt me, she will.”
“Then she’ll have me to answer to.” Kyall’s expression was daunting. “Any other man would give up on you, Sarah. You’re so contradictory. So self-contained on the surface, always holding yourself in check, but when we’re alone you’re the most passionate woman a man could ever want. What’s going on here?”
“I’m sorry, Kyall. I can’t explain. I have to go in now. I need to show Morris around the hospital. All the beds are filled.”
“Morris can wait another few minutes.” He held her so she couldn’t move. “I can’t do anything about my grandmother, Sarah. I can do something about you. Our love is not a calamity, as you seem to imply. I know it was willful, selfish, reckless, irresponsible, all of those things, to have slept with you when you were so young. But I wasn’t much older.” He shook his head. “I’ve had to learn wisdom. And something I’ve learned is that one mistake can’t tarnish our love or rule our lives. Is this actually what your…reluctance is all about?”