His Runaway Nurse

by Meredith Webber

  Had Majella’s blood also heated, that she pressed more closely? That her lips moved from accepting to demanding?

  ‘Oh, Flynn,’ she murmured, as his hands slid beneath her sweater, his fingers sliding up the knobs of her spine, snapping free her bra so he could hold and cup her heavy breasts.

  He felt her hands seek beneath his shirt, urgent hands, reefing it from his trousers as if she needed to touch his skin right now.

  Cool hands against his skin, soft hands, pressing his shoulder blades to bring him closer, her body arching into his, little breaths of sound coming from her lips as he teased one already peaking nipple.

  Her hands were on his belt now, trying to unsnap his jeans.

  ‘Bedroom,’ he whispered in her ear, then he swung her into his arms and carried her in, hitting the light switch with his elbow as they entered the room.

  ‘No lights,’ she said, reaching out behind him to turn it off, then little else was said, both stripping silently, finding the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, Flynn’s lips fully occupied exploring Majella’s body, Majella’s stopped by emotion so strong she could only gasp, or shiver, or sometimes give a little cry.

  Beyond thought, Flynn explored her body—with lips and hands, learning what she liked and didn’t like through little gasps and cries. His own body he held in check, but only just, and only until Majella reached for him, running her hands down his naked back, her hands cupping his buttocks, drawing him closer, one hand sliding around to hold and fondle him, guiding him into her body, primed by touch and feel for his invasion.

  ‘Oh, Flynn,’ he heard her whisper as he entered her with one swift, sure movement, then her legs clasped around his back and she joined him in the rhythmic dance of desire, setting the pace with her own movements, slowing him, then moving faster, until he couldn’t bear it any longer.

  He felt her release, her body shiver and give way beneath him, and the little cry she gave broke his restraint, though his cry was more a shout—curtailed swiftly to a groan.

  He slumped across her body, sliding sideways so he wasn’t smothering her, but keeping his arms around her—protective now—while his mind whirled with recriminations.

  What the hell had he been thinking? He, who was so careful, had just had unprotected sex. And with Majella, of all people, who was as confused and unsure about their relationship and the future as he was.

  She’d lost him, Majella realised as his body slid off hers. And though his arms still held her, as hers held him, she knew his thoughts were far from love, or lust, or sex, or whatever it was they’d just shared.

  So, while her body sparked with remembered pleasure, and the warmth of Flynn’s attentions still burned within her, her heart felt sad and heavy. It wasn’t that she wanted promises of undying love—or even false assurances that love might have been involved in what had just occurred—but a touch, a caress, a whispered endearment wouldn’t have gone astray.

  The things she’d have liked to whisper dried to nothing on her tongue, and she eased away, eager to retrieve her clothes, to dress and get away so she could try to sort out what had happened far from Flynn’s distracting presence.

  The light came on—a bedside light—as she bent to feel among the scattered garments, and she heard the sharp intake of Flynn’s breath then felt his fingers on her back.

  On her scars…

  ‘Your husband beat you?’ The words were spoken quietly enough, but held such a mix of disbelief and anger that she turned to Flynn.

  ‘Not my husband,’ she whispered, and hoped her eyes didn’t show remembered fear.

  ‘Your grandfather?’

  Flynn heard his incredulity in the two words, and knew this disbelief would hurt her, but how could he get his head around the idea of the man who’d been so good to him doing this to his own flesh and blood?

  Majella had turned towards him so he could no longer see her back, but the image of the fine white lines criss-crossed the curves of her bottom, a few straying higher, one near her bra—fine as snail trails in the grass, old scars, but unmistakable as scars—stayed with Flynn.

  He couldn’t speak, his chest too full of pain and confusion. He simply stared at her, his mind a fog of conjecture mixed with random memories.

  That pup is not a pet!

  The cave.

  Her treasures.

  But the cave had become too small and eventually she’d fled.

  He put one hand on her shoulder, the other on her chin, forcing her head up, looking at eyes hidden from him by her eyelids, dark feathery lashes fluttering on her pale cheeks. He touched the scar that ran across her temple.

  ‘This, too?’ he whispered, still not wanting to believe it possible—not wanting it to be the man who’d given Flynn so many opportunities.

  She nodded.

  ‘But why? What would you ever have done wrong?’

  She raised her eyes to meet his and smiled at him, the kind of smile that would have broken a statue’s heart.

  ‘Running in the house, missing a chord in piano practice, a stain on a dress, a scuff on a new shoe—what didn’t I do wrong?’

  God damn him! Flynn roared, catching the words behind his lips and smothering them before they escaped and frightened her with their ferocity. ‘Why did you not say? Not tell someone?’

  ‘Tell who, Flynn?’ she whispered. ‘You, who thought him God? The housekeepers, who must have heard him whipping me, must have seen the strip of bamboo or riding crop he used. I think it’s why so many left. And why he always employed them through a Melbourne agency, not locally. Who knows? Maybe every single one of them remonstrated with him.’

  He had no answer except to take her in his arms and hold her close, hugging her and rocking her in his arms, wanting to take away pain she no longer felt, except in her heart—and in all the memories of her childhood.

  ‘Oh, Majella,’ he whispered into her unruly hair, ‘why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘What could you have done, Flynn? You worked for him to help your family—could you have got another job that paid as well? That paid at all, given your age when you first started working for him in the stables?’

  She pushed away and pale green eyes scanned his face—pale green eyes full of sadness.

  For the past? For what might have been?

  ‘But you helped me, always, Flynn, just by being my friend,’ she whispered, and the anger he’d stifled earlier burst forth.

  ‘Your friend? Fine friend I turned out to be. Letting that man get away with such behaviour. And you!’

  He glared at her, and although aware that she’d paled at the verbal assault, he couldn’t stop.

  ‘What are friends for but to share things? Do you think I’d have cared about my future—taken money from the man—if I’d known he was beating you? Dear God, Majella, did you think so little of me that you’d assume I’d put my future ahead of your welfare?’

  She looked blankly at him, a look he now remembered from their childhood, and as her shoulders bowed he knew the last thing he should have done was shout at her. And though impotent rage—how could he not have seen? Guessed? Protected her?—still made him tremble, he put his arms around her and drew her close, whispering useless apologies for past and present, clasping her in his arms until the demands of their bodies changed the tenor of the embrace and they made love again, slowly and tenderly—sensibly this time—healing love…

  Majella watched Flynn sleep, remembering the tenderness of his touch, the delight he’d brought her body, the sheer joy of making love with Flynn. Then she sighed and slid out of the bed, dressing easily as the light was still on. She looked at him again, seeing the angled planes of his face, the traces of silver in his black hair, the lips that had brought her such savage delight. With a little shiver that wasn’t entirely remembered pleasure, she tiptoed around the bed, bent to kiss Flynn’s cheek and turned out the light.

  All she’d done, she realised as she drove back to the show-grounds thro
ugh the still, moon-silvered night, was complicate matters. She sighed again. Maybe it was a good thing Parragulla House was beyond her reach financially. Living here would be impossible. Making love to Flynn, with Flynn, had put an end to that dream, whichever way she looked at it. For a start, making love to Flynn had proved something she’d kind of suspected ever since they’d met again.

  That she loved him…

  So living near him, loving him, seeing him around the town would be unbearable, while having an affair with him—and that’s all it would be, given his doubts about marriage—was beyond contemplation. Imagine Gracie going to school, the kids all talking about her mother and the doctor…

  She crept into the cabin, touched her sleeping child on the cheek, then slipped into bed, wrapped her arms around herself and refused to cry.

  Flynn woke to find her gone. Woke with so many twisted thoughts he didn’t know where to start in sorting them out. The idea of the old man hitting his granddaughter was still hard to believe, but his subconscious had obviously accepted it, for the guilt Flynn felt that he hadn’t known—hadn’t protected her better—ate into him.

  Concern about the consequences of unprotected sex flashed through his mind, of lesser importance for some reason—the thought of Majella being pregnant not as upsetting as it should be…

  He chased away memories of the closeness they’d shared, knowing they were nothing but distractions, no matter how his body felt about repeating the exercise.

  Soon.

  Then there was the will and those damnable conditions. He hadn’t finished telling her about the money—money that could make such a difference in her life, although now he knew what she’d suffered at the old man’s hands, he could understand her reluctance to believe her grandfather might have meant well when he’d written it.

  But before any of it could be hers, they had to get around the conditions.

  Somehow.

  An idea, as nebulous as a cloud at first, floated through his mind. His body caught on first, stirring again, remembering pleasure. Cold-shower time—think it through. How could he suggest it in such a way that Majella might accept the idea?

  A friendly offer—nothing more. Explain to her how bad he felt that he hadn’t been able to help her more when they’d been young—that he had been blind to that side of the old man…

  Would that work?

  It was all he had.

  He pushed his body out of bed, showered and dressed. He had to talk to her, but where? Sophie and Helen would be in the cabin until the festival opened, and if Majella was working on the stall, talk would be impossible.

  Here at his house wasn’t all that good an idea either, given how ‘talking’ had ended the previous evening. They needed neutral ground.

  An image of the gully popped into his mind. He’d phone the new shop in town that packed picnic baskets, order one for breakfast, then collect Majella and Grace and take them up by the creek. Spread a blanket on the violet leaves…

  He found the cabin easily, mainly because Majella was sitting on the front steps, watching Grace play with stones around her feet. He pulled up in front of her and fancied he saw colour rise in her cheeks, but her eyes met his as he walked towards her.

  ‘Man,’ Grace called to him with delight, and it seemed natural to bend and lift the little girl into his arms.

  ‘I’ve a picnic breakfast in the car,’ he said, feeling Grace’s arms tighten around his neck. ‘You’ll both join me?’

  The pale eyes held a hundred questions, but sounds of movement in the cabin behind her must have helped Majella decide.

  ‘I’ll just tell Helen,’ she said, and slipped inside, returning moments later with a jacket for Grace, and her car keys.

  ‘Can we go in my car? It’s got the booster seat.’

  Tension was audible in the words and visible in the set of her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands, and Flynn wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her and assure her that everything would be all right.

  But who was he to give such reassurance?

  A friend who’d already let her down…

  While putting his arms around her wasn’t such a good idea, recalling where a comforting hug had led last night.

  With Grace secure on one arm he walked back to his car and reached in for the picnic basket, carrying it across to the small four-wheel-drive, setting the picnic basket on the ground while he put Grace into her booster seat.

  Family day out—so domestic, Majella thought, watching the care with which Flynn handled her daughter.

  A dream come true?

  More a mirage, she reminded herself, wary of Flynn and confused about the new dynamics between them. She couldn’t regret making love with him, for it had been too wonderful—too precious—for regrets, but it had made things more, not less, complicated.

  Unless they both ignored what had happened.

  Was that what he was doing? Opening the car door for her? Being careful not to touch her?

  Her body ached for just a brush of fingers on her arm, or a breath of a kiss in her hair, for something, anything, that hinted of the bliss they’d shared, but no, today’s Flynn was all cool remoteness.

  She studied him as he moved around the car, opening the hatch to put the picnic basket inside. Was his face a little more set than usual? Did that show he, too, needed all his control not to reach out—to touch…

  She parked where they’d parked when they’d searched the gully for the boys, and turned to Flynn, wanting a sign of—what?

  No sign, so she asked.

  ‘Why are we doing this?’

  ‘We didn’t finish the conversation about the will,’ he said, and his face relaxed just enough for a hint of a smile to flit across his lips. ‘I thought neutral territory, Gracie as chaperone, maybe we could sort things out.’

  Could they?

  Majella doubted it but she lifted Grace from her car seat and, carrying the little girl, followed Flynn up the gully to where the violets grew thickest. He spread a tartan blanket, then opened the bright basket, producing tubs of peeled and cut fruit, tiny pots of home-made yoghurt, croissants and pastries and little jars of jam and honey.

  ‘Eat,’ he ordered, offering an apple quarter to Grace, who sat herself down on the blanket near his feet and chewed happily on it. Then he opened a Thermos and the delicious scent of brewed coffee filled the crisp morning air.

  ‘Bliss!’ Majella said, breathing in the tempting aroma.

  ‘Bliss indeed,’ Flynn said, though a teasing glint in his eyes made her think he wasn’t talking about the coffee.

  She ate a little of this and a taste of that, enjoying the picnic, relaxing, but not entirely relaxed as she knew this was but a prelude.

  ‘So, talk,’ she said, when she’d finished a second cup of coffee, and Grace was happily picking leaves from a bush to feed to her toy koala.

  ‘It’s about the will—some other things,’ Flynn said. He sounded so unlike Flynn—almost hesitant—that Majella laughed and said, ‘I know it’s not your fault he chose you as executor. And I know I got upset the first time you talked about it, but I promise not to yell at you this time. Just tell me what you have to tell me, so we can get the whole thing out of the way.’

  Blue eyes scanned her face, as if trying to read her mood behind the brave words, then his hand reached out towards her, but he drew it back.

  ‘Talk,’ Flynn repeated, an order to himself to get on with it, although his heart thudded with doubt. ‘Last night you talked about a home—wanting a home for Grace.’

  Majella nodded and he took a deep breath and plunged on.

  ‘You can give her that—give her Parragulla House,’ he said, the words sounding louder than he’d intended in the quiet glade beside the creek. Yet hesitant. ‘One way out, I thought, would be for you to marry me. Not for real—well, it would have to be for real—but on a temporary basis. We like each other so we’d qualify as happy, and you’d be fulfilling the condition of the will. Th
en once everything’s settled, we could get unmarried.’

  Majella straightened on the blanket and stared at his face as if trying to process this unexpected suggestion.

  Then she shook her head.

  ‘You’re like Helen,’ she told him. ‘You listen to me talk about independence and standing on my own two feet—making a life for myself and Grace—then you step right in and take it over, making it easy for me, finding answers for me. Jeff did that, too. I came into their house in much the same way as any other injured animal and he saw his role as taking care of me. And I let him, which was probably wrong, but I won’t do that again. I don’t want to be looked after, Flynn. It isn’t what I need. Can’t you see that?’

  He shook his head, her refusal hurting although he hadn’t really expected her to agree. But her stubbornness angered him as well, so, when she’d disentangled Grace from a vine and returned to the blanket with her daughter on her knee, he renewed his attack, bringing out the big guns in the argument.

  ‘You’re being stupid,’ he growled, not loudly enough to upset the child who was rebandaging her koala’s ear. ‘It’s a darned sight easier to be independent when you’ve got a million dollars plus in cold hard cash. All I’m suggesting is a temporary arrangement to see that you get what is yours by right anyway.’

  Majella stared at him, unable to believe the figures he was flinging at her.

  ‘A million dollars?’ she whispered.

  ‘More!’ Flynn said, and Majella closed her eyes and tried to think.

  Not easy, given the circumstances.

  Had Flynn really just asked her to marry him?

  That the proposal had come from Flynn her childhood friend, not Flynn the lover from last night, she had no doubt. This was Flynn trying to make things right for her, especially now he knew about the scars. Flynn endeavouring to make up for the pain of her childhood.

  So why was her heart leaping with excitement, thudding at her chest walls as if trying to escape its confinement?

  And why was she thinking about a proposal she’d already turned down, and not the money?