by Amy Andrews
Felicity laughed, ignoring Callum in her peripheral vision. ‘I’m sure Courtney caught on pretty quickly.’
Dr Dawson chuckled in that way of his that made other people want to join in as he pulled out of the hug. ‘Now, then, I see you’ve met Cal. I think you two are going to get along famously.’
Felicity smiled at her boss then nodded in Callum’s general direction. ‘Yes. Callum and I have met.’ She couldn’t bring herself to call him Cal—he’d always be Callum to her.
‘Oh, call him Cal,’ Dr Dawson said. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, son?’
At almost seventy Bill called every male under forty ‘son’. It was his term of endearment.
‘Cal’s fine,’ Callum said, ambling over to the table and sitting down. ‘Most people call me Cal.’
Dr Dawson nodded, looking pleased with himself. ‘You’re bright and early. If you’re trying to impress me, it’s working.’
‘Thought I’d look at the clinic appointments for the week. Familiarise myself with some charts.’
‘Jolly good idea.’ Dr Dawson nodded. ‘Must do the same myself. Better get to it. Monday morning is always a madhouse here. I’ll just make myself a cuppa and do the same thing.’
‘I’ll make it and bring it in for you, Dr Dawson,’ Felicity offered.
She loved Bill Dawson almost as much as she loved her own father but he made an unholy mess in the kitchen and, like a lot of men, seemed completely blind to it. Also, Callum was a little too close for comfort now.
‘Oh, no, Flick. Julia would rouse on me if I made the nurses get me a cup of tea.’
Felicity smiled. She knew that was the truth. Julia Dawson had been a nurse for over twenty years before Luci, her change-of-life surprise package, had come along. She’d worked part time on Reception for many years at the practice once Luci had gone to school and still helped out when things got hectic.
There was no greater advocate for the practice nurses than Bill’s wife.
‘I’m offering,’ Felicity said, shooing him away from the sink as she approached. ‘It’ll be our little secret, I promise.’
Dr Dawson capitulated easily. ‘Thank you.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll see you later, Cal,’ he said, moving towards the door. ‘Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions. Pop your head in or ask Angela or even our girl Flick. She knows more than all of us put together.’
Felicity kept her back turned, fiddling with the mugs as she snorted self-deprecatingly, which produced more chuckles from Dr Dawson as he exited.
She was excruciatingly conscious of Callum’s gaze burning into her back as she made two cups of tea. When she was done she picked them up and finally turned to face him. It was disconcerting to find him still watching her, his brow crinkled, his mouth set in a brooding line.
‘I used to be a Cal,’ he said. ‘Felt like one too. The life of the party. The centre of the world. The man of the moment. I used to be like that.’
Felicity wasn’t sure what this was about. Was he annoyed all these days later that she’d told him he didn’t look like a Cal? Because he didn’t—not to her mind. Especially not now. Or was he trying to explain why he hadn’t introduced himself as Cal right out of the blocks?
Or did he just miss that Cal guy and want to reminisce? She had to admit to being curious about him herself.
It was hard to figure out what he meant. He was so tense and shuttered, so hard to read. ‘What happened?’
He shrugged, looking down into his mug. ‘Life. Stuff.’
She nodded. She didn’t know what he wanted her to say. Did he want her to push or leave it alone? Something had obviously happened to Callum to change him.
Was that why he was here? In the middle of freaking nowhere? Fourteen hundred kilometres from his amazing harbourside apartment that Luci had raved about?
‘You’re a long way from home,’ she murmured.
‘Yeah.’
Felicity almost gave up. It was like pulling teeth. But she’d always been stubborn. ‘Because you wanted to trade water for wine? Or...because you’re running away?’
He glanced up from his mug, piercing her with his eyes. Running away it was.
Best she remember that.
‘Because I’m newly trained and thought some rural experience would be good.’
It was a sound reason. Most GPs who locumed in rural areas and weren’t from rural areas did so for the experience. Somehow, though, she didn’t think that’s what was going on here.
But whatever. It wasn’t any of her business.
‘Right. Well...’ She looked at the mugs in her hand. ‘I better deliver this, we open in fifteen minutes. I’ll email you those files in a bit. Have you been set up on the computer?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Thanks.’
Felicity gave him a weak smile as she headed towards the door. ‘No worries. Just yell if you need anything.’
But she hoped like hell he didn’t.
* * *
It was almost three hours later before Felicity got around to emailing the file, although she had managed to send the appointment calendar invite through to Callum before things had got too crazy.
In the mornings Felicity was a general dogsbody. From receptionist to nursing duties, she was a jack of all trades and Mondays were always busy. It was like medical conditions multiplied over the two-day break. Plus there was a new doctor starting so that always brought out the rubberneckers hoping for a glimpse.
Not that anybody had seen Callum yet, he was keeping his door firmly closed. A fact that didn’t deter the Vickers Hill grapevine. They didn’t need a sighting today. It was already in full swing because Mrs Mancini had spied him at the local supermarket, buying groceries at the weekend, and had declared him a bit of a catch.
She was surprised Mrs Mancini hadn’t arrived with her gorgeous granddaughter who was a teacher at the local public school and who she’d been trying to marry off for the last two years. Three patients had already arrived bearing gifts of food for him.
Felicity picked up the plate of shortbread Mrs Robbins had brought with her. Her shortbread won the blue ribbon at the district fête every year and had been known to make grown men weep.
She took it with her to Callum’s office. As far as she knew, he hadn’t surfaced all morning and it was for him after all. She wanted to check he’d received the file and needed to get in there to set up for the orthopaedic clinic that started at one. There were three lots of plaster due to come off today and the plaster saw wasn’t in the treatment room so it was probably in his office somewhere.
Also they needed to talk. Before the clinic. There were things to say. Although she wasn’t sure how to start.
That’s where the shortbread came in. If it all went badly, at least she could console herself with sugar.
She knocked on the door and opened it when she heard a muffled, ‘Come in.’
Even dulled, his voice did wicked things to her pulse.
Damn. She was in trouble if his voice could make her legs weak through a closed door.
‘Hey,’ she said as she opened the door and shut it behind her then walked towards him all businesslike, concentrating on the plate of shortbread. ‘I come bearing gifts.’
She glanced at him as she drew level with his desk and was pleased she was close enough to a chair should she collapse into it. Glasses. He was wearing glasses. Sexy glasses. The kind of trendy, designer wireless frames that hunky male models wore in advertisements for optometrists.
She wouldn’t have thought he could look any sexier. She’d seen him naked, for crying out loud. But she’d been wrong. Callum with glasses was a whole other level.
‘You wear glasses?’
It was possibly the dumbest thing she’d ever said. She might as well have said she’d carried a watermelon.
He peered at her over the top of those glasses. ‘So do you.’
‘Oh...yes.’ She absently touched the frames she’d pushed to the top of her head. ‘Just for reading and computer work.’
‘Same here.’ He took them off and tossed them on his desk and Felicity wished he’d put them on again.
He stared at her, obviously waiting for her to say something. ‘Did you want something?’ he asked, looking pointedly at the plate of shortbread.
His tone was brisk. Not unfriendly but businesslike. It appeared she wasn’t going to have to worry about any lines they’d crossed. He’d obviously retreated as far as he could.
It was just the bucket of cold water she needed.
‘I came to check you’d received the file I sent you and to bring you these. Mrs Robbins made them for the new doctor. They’re the best in the district. You also have a jar of Mrs Randall’s rosella jam and Cindy Wetherall has made you a mulberry pie.’
He blinked. ‘But...why?’
The incredulity in his voice would have been comical had it not been utterly genuine. Felicity shrugged. ‘It’s the country. That’s how we welcome newcomers. Also there’s a rumour going around town that the new doc is hot so you’ve gone to the top of the eligible list.’
‘Eligible?’
‘Yes, you know. Marriage, babies, the whole enchilada. We don’t get a lot of new blood around here.’
His face morphed from mystified to horrified, which was another salient warning. He looked like two rusty forks would be welcome about now.
Obviously marriage and babies were not on his agenda. Or not in Vickers Hills anyway.
‘What did you think you were going to get when you traded the city for the country?’
If her voice was a little on the tart side she didn’t care. Honestly...for someone who’d come across as intelligent and articulate on the train, he was being rather obtuse.
‘Not this.’
‘Well...you’d better get used to it.’ She plonked the plate of biscuits down. ‘You’re going to be well fed around here.’
He looked at them like they were a bomb that could possibly detonate at any moment. Oh, for Pete’s sake... She had the strange urge to pelt him with one.
‘Anyway... Did you get the files?’
He put his glasses back on and her pulse gave a funny little skip despite her annoyance. He looked at his computer screen. ‘Thanks, yes. I’ve figured out the system and I’ve been reviewing all the charts for the week.’
He was being thorough. That was good. Being prepared and focused. Doing his homework.
But she still wanted to pelt him with shortbread.
‘It looks pretty light,’ he said, his eyes still glued to the screen. ‘I’d see double the amount of patients in an afternoon in Sydney.’
There was no criticism in his voice. He was being matter-of-fact but it irked Felicity. She bit her tongue against the urge to tell him he could turn right around and go back to his precious Sydney.
It appeared their talk wasn’t going to be necessary. It was obvious he didn’t want to be here. She’d been worrying about nothing.
‘Trust me, it’ll take us all afternoon.’
‘Okay. The clinic usually starts on time?’
‘Yes. There are no appointments between twelve and one so we can have lunch then afternoon clinics start at one on the dot.’
‘That’s very civilised.’
Felicity gritted her teeth. Again, his tone wasn’t critical but anger stirred in her chest anyway.
She supposed they didn’t get time for lunch in Sydney.
‘Well, you know what they say, the family that eats together stays together.’
He glanced at her. ‘And you’re all family here.’
Why did he make that sound like they were some kind of cult? ‘Well...yes.’ Where the hell was the charming guy from the train? The one she’d slept with?
Talk about a Jekyll and Hyde!
He nodded as if he was absorbing her answer before returning his attention to the screen. Felicity had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. ‘Do me a favour? Have a look around here for the plaster saw when you’re done with the charts?’
She’d planned on looking for it herself but frankly she didn’t want to be around him any longer than she had to be. And she didn’t need the temptation of a plaster saw in her hand when she felt like causing him physical harm.
‘Sure,’ he murmured, still focused on his computer.
Felicity wasn’t sure if that was his way of dismissing her or not but she took her leave anyway.
She had no idea if he noticed.
CHAPTER SIX
CALLUM GLANCED UP as the door clicked shut. He hadn’t realised Felicity had slipped out. He sighed and threw his glasses on the desk again, massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
Damn it. He’d been too short with her. He hadn’t meant to be, she’d just caught him at a bad moment. He’d been trying to concentrate on his work, to push away the powerful feelings of regret that were threatening to swamp him, but sitting here at his desk in a Vickers Hill general practice he couldn’t deny them any longer and she’d arrived in the middle of his pity party.
He was a GP. A general practitioner. The last two years he’d been in training for this so it hadn’t seemed quite real. But now he was here, in his first GP job, and it was as real as it got.
Goodbye, hot-shot surgeon. No more triple As, carotid endarterectomies or vascular bypasses. His life now revolved around tonsillitis, hypertension, reflux and asthma. No more international surgical conferences or pioneering new techniques or glitzy dinner parties. No more cut and thrust of the operating theatre. It was all rosella jam and mulberry pie...
So not the way he’d pictured his life turning out.
Sure, after this he was heading back to the prestigious north shore practice where he’d undergone a lot of his training. He’d never been given home-made anything by any of the patients there but it wasn’t scrubs and the smell of the diathermy either.
Still, none of it was Felicity’s fault and they had to work together so he needed to get his head out of his rear end. He hadn’t been prepared for the leap in his pulse when he’d seen her again this morning. He’d spent the last few days trying to compartmentalise her in his head as the woman on the train. A fantasy. A very sexy, very real fantasy that he thanked his lucky stars for but a fantasy nonetheless.
He’d thought he’d succeeded.
And then she’d been in the staffroom and his libido had growled back to life again as a rush of memories from the train had filled his head.
She hadn’t looked like the woman in the fringed boots or the little black dress. She’d been in her uniform—a pair of loose-fitting blue trousers and a polo shirt with ‘Dawson Family Practice’ embroidered across the pocket. The shirt was also loose and her honey-coloured hair was tied back in a low ponytail at her nape.
But she had looked like the woman in the yoga pants and bare feet who’d shared her bed with him and damn if that hadn’t made him all fired up. And messed with his head. Why else would he have babbled on about being a Cal?
Oh, God. He’d been inept...
But it had seemed vital suddenly that she know. To make her understand that he had been a different person once. That he was capable, even if that guy felt lost to him for ever.
To not judge him as the man she saw now.
Which hopefully she wouldn’t because that guy had just acted like an insensitive jerk.
He’d come here to get away from the tentacles of his past. To begin his new career away from judging eyes. To get some clear air before he went back to a world that was used to seeing him as an entirely different person.
To be happy, goddamn it.
He just hadn’t realised how hard it was going to be. He’d put too much expectation on this first day. That starting it would be some miracle cure. Some invisible line in the sand that held magical powers of career satisfaction by just stepping over it when clearly it was going to take time. He was going to have to get used to it. To the change in pace and clientele and his core duties. To take one day at a time and have faith that each day would be better than the last.
It was that or become a bitter old man. And he refused to let that damn cricket ball win.
* * *
The clinic started promptly but didn’t go according to what Felicity, or the patients, were used to. Callum was efficient in the extreme. No wonder he had queried the appointment numbers when he seemed to have mentally allotted five minutes to each one and zipped through the list like he was trying to set a new world record.
Usually, with Meera, each appointment would last between ten and fifteen minutes. But Callum didn’t believe in pleasantries. He wasn’t rude. He was polite and respectful but he didn’t dillydally either, didn’t open himself to chitchat, preferring to cut straight to the chase. Review the problem. Make a diagnosis. Order a test, an X-ray, a pill or dish out some medical advice.
Thank you for coming. Next!
Some city practice was going to lap him up with his billing rate. But that’s not what they were about at the Dawson Family Practice and by the time they’d worked their way through to their second-last patient—at four o’clock—Felicity was cranky. The clinics always ran until at least five and usually closer to six.
She had no doubt Callum looked on it as efficiency. There were more people in the cities, therefore more demand on GP services. Double-and triple-booking were common practice. But he could keep it as far as she was concerned. Her patients deserved more than a paint-by-numbers doctor.
Old Mr Dunnich came in, bearing a bunch of roses. He was a big old wizened bloke in his mid-eighties, used to stand six-four and didn’t have the belly he was sporting now in his grape-growing days.
‘These are for you, Doc,’ he said in his slow country drawl. ‘Don’t usually go around giving flowers to blokes but the wife insisted.’