by Fiona Lowe
He’d expected her to fly off the couch but she merely shuddered and stayed put. Eventually she opened one eye and stared accusingly at him. ‘You could have told me that the Australian billfish competition is on!’
Was it? Had that many months passed? ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise it was that time of year.’ Once he’d had his finger on the pulse of his hometown and been part of the committee for one of the biggest events on the calendar, but not any more. Now days just rolled together into one long and empty period of time.
She frowned at him as if she didn’t quite believe him. ‘Every motel between here and a hundred k up and down the coast is fully booked out with anglers hoping to catch a two-hundred-and-twenty-kilo marlin. God, I hate this dust-impregnated town.’ She picked up her phone and stared at it as if willing it to ring with news of a bed.
A mouse scuttled between his feet.
She can’t stay here.
She’s not staying with me.
Why not? You don’t care about much any more so why care if she stays a few nights?
She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you know if my office at the hospital has a couch?’
Her tone was unexpectedly flat, as if all the fight had gone out of her, and a tiny crack appeared in the blackness of his soul. His mouth started to work before his brain had fully thought it through. ‘You can stay at my place until this joint is clean and mouse-free.’
Her smooth brow creased in uncertainty. ‘That’s kind of you but don’t you think you should discuss it with your wife first?’
Your wife. He felt the darkness sucking at his heart and soul, threatening to drown him over again the way it had so many times in the last year and a half. His heart thumped faster, pumping pain with every beat, but he somehow managed to growl out, ‘No need. Come on, grab your stuff. It’s late.’
He turned and strode out of the house, not waiting for her, not offering to carry her case, and not looking back because if he did he might just change his mind. Not even Poppy deserved that.
Poppy lugged her unopened and mouse-free case the short distance to what she assumed was Matt’s house—lights on, front door open—and wondered what on earth this man’s deal was. He lurched from sarcastic to ironic, friendly to downright rude and a thousand emotions in between. Why offer her a bed if he clearly wasn’t happy about her staying? She assumed he’d gone on ahead to let his wife know they had an unexpected guest. She thought of her gorgeous apartment in south Perth with a view of the river and silently cursed William and the hospital board.
She stepped into the empty foyer of a house considerably larger than her hospital residence, and unlike the minimalist furnishing of rental accommodation she could see the hand of a woman in the decor. Silence hovered and given it was close to midnight she didn’t want to call out and wake anyone. For all she knew, there could be children asleep.
A closed door on her left was probably a bedroom so she left her case by the front door and padded down the well-lit hall, which opened into a formal lounge-dining area. Despite its stylish couches and polished wood table, it had an air of ‘display only’, lacking the personal touches like ornaments or photos that created living spaces. She kept walking and passed through a doorway into another huge space, which wasn’t well-lit but she made out a kitchen and assumed beyond was a family room and bedrooms.
She spoke softly. ‘Matt?’
He appeared through a door off the kitchen, his arms full of bed linen and his face set in unforgiving lines. ‘Your room’s this way.’
She expected him to turn towards the yet unexplored part of the house but instead he headed back from where she’d come from and entered the bedroom at the front of the house. A stripped white-wood queen-size bed dominated the room, which had a feature wall wallpapered in alternating cool blue and white stripes. Matching white-wood bedside tables held reading lamps with gold stands and white shades, although Poppy noticed the plugs had been pulled from the sockets. No books or boxes of tissues adorned any surfaces but gauzy curtains hung softly in front of a white blind, which was pulled down. The room should have said, ‘restful haven for adults’ but instead it looked abandoned.
Matt threw out the bottom sheet and Poppy moved to grab her side. She was almost certain this room had been designed to be the master bedroom. ‘Are you sure this is OK?’
Matt deftly made a hospital corner with the top sheet and didn’t meet her gaze. ‘The en suite and walk-in wardrobe is through there.’ He waved towards a doorway. ‘The hot water’s solar and it’s really hot but it takes a minute or so to come through. Catch the water in the bucket unless you like to wake up to a cold shower.’ He shoved a pillow so hard into the pillowcase it bunched up and he had to thump the feathers back into place before throwing it on the bed.
He strode to the door, his hand gripping the handle and his gaze fixed firmly on the cornice where two walls met. ‘We leave at 7:30 a.m. and you’ll find something for breakfast in the kitchen. Good night.’
The door closed firmly behind him, the click loudly stating, ‘this is your space so stay here.’ Poppy fell back onto the bed, her relief at being out of the infested house short-lived, and she wondered if she’d have been safer sharing with the mice.
Perhaps it had been sheer exhaustion but, despite Poppy’s misgivings, she’d slept soundly. Now, as she dressed, she could feel the temperature climbing despite the early hour and her suit, which she donned automatically, felt hot. Still, if she had her way she’d be in scrubs soon enough. She opened her door, expecting to hear a household in full Monday morning action mode—radio or television news blaring, the drone of a kettle as it neared boiling and the ping of the toaster—but although she could hear the harsh squawk of cockatoos outside, she couldn’t hear anything much inside. She made her way to the kitchen, which was empty, but with morning light streaming in she saw that, unlike the front part of the house, which held an unlived-in air, the kitchen showed more than the occasional sign of occupation.
Newspapers were piled so high on one end of the long granite bench that they’d started to slide onto the floor. Used cups and glasses sat abandoned close to, but not in, the dishwasher. A supermarket bag filled with tins took up more space rather than being stored in the adjacent pantry and every other surface was covered in clutter from half-opened mail to nails and paperclips.
A casual eating area off to the left had a table and chairs but instead of the polished jarrah having placemats it held a laptop and was covered in screeds of paper. She glanced into the family room and saw a similar chaotic mess that jarred with the decor, which had obviously been undertaken with care and a great eye for detail. Poppy wasn’t a domestic queen by any stretch of the imagination but even she managed better than this. She was amazed the Albrights didn’t have mice!
She filled the kettle and while she waited for it to boil for her heart-starter morning cup of coffee, she emptied the dishwasher, guessing where items went, and then reloaded it with the dirty cups and glasses. She located the coffee and then opened the fridge. Milk, a loaf of bread, three apples and a tub of yoghurt hardly made a dent in the cavernous space that was big enough to store food for a family of six. ‘Morning.’
His voice startled her but at the same time it reminded her of a Cabernet Merlot from Margaret River: deep, complex and with a hint of tannin. She turned around and stifled a gasp as her body betrayed her with a shot of delicious, tingling lust.
He stood on the other side of the bench, his hair still slightly damp and rumpled from the shower, the ends brushing the collar of his open-necked shirt. His long fingers tackled the last few buttons and his tanned and toned chest fast disappeared under the placket. His wedding ring glinted in the sunshine through the window and when he raised his gaze, the Kelly green in his shirt lightened his dark eyes but the shadows remained, and fatigue hung over him like a threatening cloud.
What are you doing? Get yourself under control; he’s married, off limits, and even if he wasn’t he’s too damn moody and yo
u’ve sworn off men for all time.
The moody man spoke. ‘Did you sleep?’
His question sounded almost accusatory. ‘I did, thank you.’ But you don’t look like you did.
He seemed to be staring at her suit and she thought she detected relief in his eyes, which made no sense whatsoever so she was probably totally wrong. She had no clue why she was letting Matt Albright unnerve her. If anyone unnerved her it was usually other women. Men she understood because she worked in a man’s world but the whole women and friendship thing she’d always found challenging and unfathomable, and that dated back to primary school.
You’re conveniently forgetting Steven, are you?
He didn’t unnerve me, he just broke my heart.
And now you avoid men.
I work with men all the time!
That’s not what I mean and you know it.
To distract herself she picked up a cloth and started to wipe down the bench. ‘No one else up yet?’
‘You don’t have to do that.’ He swooped, his fingers brushing her skin as he tugged the cloth out of her hand.
Trails of desire shot through her. This was crazy on so many levels and she had to act. ‘Look, Matt, I’m sorry I had to prevail on your family for a bed, although you were the one who offered. Obviously me being here is a problem and I’d like to apologise to your wife for the inconvenience.’
He lowered the dishcloth onto the sink, the action slow and deliberate. When he raised his head she experienced a chill.
‘My wife isn’t here.’
And you’re an incredibly gorgeous guy that women viscerally react to even when they’re sensible and know they shouldn’t. ‘And she’s not OK with me being here. I get it.’
He grimaced. ‘No, you don’t get it at all, Poppy.’ The ping of the kettle sounded bright and cheery, in sharp contrast to the strain in his voice and the emptiness in his eyes. ‘She died.’
His grief rocked through her, sending out waves of shocked surprise, and her fingers immediately crept to the pendant at her neck. Death. She hadn’t expected that. Suddenly everything fell into place: the vacant master bedroom; the messy kitchen; Jenny’s lack of anger towards him yesterday; and his aura of immense sadness. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll find somewhere else today.’
He scooped ground coffee beans into the plunger and dashed the hot water over them. ‘It makes no difference to me if you stay or not.’
And she realised he spoke the truth. His perfectly handsome face that could have graced the cover of any magazine was a façade. Underneath it, pain burned inside him, making caring for anything difficult.
You should leave. ‘When does the billfish thing finish?’
He consulted a wall calendar that was two months out of date, and turned the pages. ‘Next Sunday. Everything will be booked solid until then.’
Hope sank in her gut like a lead weight. ‘That’s probably how long it will take them to get the house under control.’
‘Could be.’
‘So you’re saying it’s a waste of time even trying to find somewhere else?’
He shrugged as his hand closed around the coffeepot. ‘It’s your call.’ Lifting two clean mugs from the cupboard, he poured the coffee and held up the milk carton.
She shook her head at the milk and reached over, lifting the black ambrosia to her nose, and breathed in deeply. The aroma sparked up her synapses, firing her brain into action. Was it such a bad thing if she had to stay here? She’d be working long hours so she’d hardly be in the house and when she was, she had her own room and bathroom so they’d hardly have to see each other. She had no doubt in her mind that Matt Albright was still very much struggling with the death of his wife so her occasional errant feelings, which she was certain she could squash, wouldn’t be reciprocated at all, leaving everything as it should be: colleagues only.
‘I came to operate, not to spend time trying to find a room, so, thanks, I’ll stay.’
His blank expression and lack of response reinforced her decision and she brought the mug to her mouth, closed her eyes and drank in the brew. With a sigh of bliss she licked her lips and savoured every drop. She finally opened her eyes to find Matt’s chocolat-noir gaze fixed intensely on her mouth and a spark of something broke through their blackness.
A shot of heat way beyond the definition of delicious tingling, and fully loaded with longing, rocked through her so hard and fast her knees sagged.
Get out now. ‘I better get to the hospital and meet my staff.’
He gave a curt nod as the shadows scudded back in place. ‘Don’t give ‘em hell.’
She bristled. ‘I’ll give them what they need.’
‘I imagine you will.’ His tone held resignation but his mouth curved slightly and the hint of dimple hovered in the darkness of his stubble, foreshadowing how heart-stoppingly magnificent he’d look wearing a full smile.
Poppy fled.
CHAPTER FOUR
POPPY flicked the switch on her Dictaphone to Off, having finished her last surgical report for the day. Her first couple of official workdays had arranged themselves into a routine of rounds, surgery, reports, phone calls to her spies in Perth to get an update on her opposition, and then arriving back at the house very late and falling exhausted into bed. Work consumed her, as it always did, only this time she appreciated that it left no space in her brain; no space to think about the way her body had gone into sensual overload when Matt Albright had looked at her through his heavy-lidded eyes.
She rubbed her forehead and wondered what on earth was wrong with her. Sure, he extended the handsome scale by about ten numbers but he was grumpy and short with everyone except patients, and obviously still grieving for his dead wife. Just like her, he wasn’t fit for a relationship and she surely didn’t even want one so there was absolutely no reason for her to be even thinking about him.
So why did thoughts of him sneak under her guard at random moments in the day? It made no sense and many times she’d needed to shake herself back into full-focus work mode because she had far more important things to think about, like the chief of surgery position in Perth. ‘Ready, Poppy?’
The words broke into her thoughts and she glanced up, expecting to be asked for an emergency consult. Instead, Jen stood in the doorway dressed in casual clothes. ‘Um, ready for what, exactly?’
Jen grinned. ‘All work makes Poppy a dull girl.’
She straightened a pile of folders on her desk. ‘All work is what I’m here to do.’
‘Sure, but day is done and there’s drinks at the pub.’
‘Thanks but I’ll pass.’ Making small talk wasn’t something that came easily to her; in fact, she was shockingly bad at it.
The nurse shook her head. ‘Not an option, Poppy. It’s a Bundallagong tradition that the nurses buy new medical staff a drink.’
She must have looked horrified because Jen hurriedly continued on with, ‘Think of it as a girls’ night out and a way of getting all the goss on the place.’
Her horror intensified. Poppy had no clue what a girls’ night out entailed, having never been on one. Getting the goss. The words pierced her horror and she realised with a buzz of clarity that this might just be the solution to her problem of random thoughts about Matt interrupting her concentration. It was a normal human reaction to have natural curiosity when you heard unexpected news; healthy even, and Matt’s statement about his wife being dead had been totally unexpected. She was pretty certain Matt wouldn’t tell her any details and although she was known for her brusque, straight-shooting style, asking someone ‘When and why did your wife die?’ wasn’t something even she would do. But if she found out the story from Jen then knowing would end the curiosity and banish all her unsettling feelings.
Decision made, she stood up, slung her handbag over her shoulder and joined Jen in the corridor. ‘So how far away is the pub?’
‘Next door.’
‘There’s a pub next to the hospital?’ She couldn�
�t hide her incredulity. ‘Why haven’t I seen it?’
‘Its position is historical. Mining towns back in the day were pretty rough and I guess putting the two together was a short walk for the drunks. Today things are more PC so there’s limited signage advertising the pub. It’s mostly used by the hospital and college staff, so a fun crowd but not too rowdy.’
They stepped outside into the dusk and the ever-present heat enveloped them. Streaks of vermillion slashed the sky as the sun sank low against the horizon and the bright white light of the first star pierced the rising darkness. ‘This sunset belongs on a postcard.’
‘Yeah, it does from this direction, but turn one-eighty degrees and the port’s infrastructure gets in the way. Mining dominates everything but I guess without it the town wouldn’t exist.’
The sunset unexpectedly mellowed Poppy. ‘Does the pub have a garden? Now you’ve planted the idea of a drink, a glass of champagne while watching this sunset might go down very well.’
Jen roared laughing. ‘You can have any drink you like as long as it’s beer or rum and Coke. Welcome to the north-west.’
The pub was busy and Jen made a bee-line for a table with a banquette seat on one side that had a reserved sign on it. The waitress appeared with a tray of glasses, a jug of beer and bowls of peanuts. Poppy, not normally a beer-drinker, accepted a glass of the icy-cold amber fluid. As it trickled down her throat she was surprised at how good it tasted, and put it down to the heat.
Jen raised her glass. ‘Welcome.’
‘Thanks. It’s been an interesting start.’ And the perfect segue into the information she wanted. ‘I’m sorry if I got you into trouble with Matt on Sunday.’
‘No worries. Matt has good days and bad, and they’re hard to pick so we just roll with them.’ Jen fiddled with a thick cardboard coaster already damp from condensation. ‘It’s been an awful eighteen months. It’s hard to know what to do or say when someone goes through something like that, you know?’
Something like what? Cancer? Car accident? ‘How did—?’