by Fiona Lowe
By now in her career she really should have a lot more confidence in her diagnostic ability and treatment options, and only be using him as a sounding board for difficult cases. Instead, she seemed to want his review of all her cases. He needed to talk to her about that.
He lifted the shovel, dumping the contents into the wheelbarrow. He’d do it tomorrow but he’d have to be ready because every day this week, at the end of their lunchtime meeting, Kirby had jumped up and said, ‘You’d better head off so you can enjoy your afternoon,’ and she’d walked briskly out of the staffroom door, back toward her office.
His body absorbed the rhythm of the shovelling, his mind unravelling and roaming free. He suddenly realised that all week Kirby had been leaving the meeting abruptly the moment the last case had been discussed. She never lingered just to chat. No chatting and she hadn’t visited. Was it possible she didn’t want to spend any time with him?
Nah, not possible.
Laughing at the resurgence of his now healthy if misguided ego, he laid his shovel across the wheelbarrow and lifted the handles, ready to push his load to the vegetable garden.
Turbo barked and jumped up.
‘Rest time’s over, is it?’
Instead of running over to Nick, Turbo stood stock still, his black ears standing up, alert and listening. He ran part way down the track and then returned, barking all the time as if to say, Come on.
Nick put the barrow down and listened. Faintly in the distance he could hear the vroom of an engine. Using his hand as a shield against the sun, he saw a familiar, once-white, now red-dust-covered four-wheel drive round the bend and pull up at the gate.
Everything comes to those who wait. The gorgeous Kirby had arrived and for the first time ever they were going to be truly alone. He couldn’t stop the broad smile rolling over his lips.
CHAPTER FIVE
YOU’VE still got time to turn around. Kirby braked at Nick’s gate, already regretting the impulsive decision to drive along Nick’s road in the hope of checking out his house. Why hadn’t she just kept driving straight back into Port? Checking over her shoulder, she threw the gear stick into reverse, anxious to get back to the safety of the main road. With a quick, final glance around to check all areas were clear before she pressed down the accelerator, she looked up—straight into lush-green smiling eyes filled with a wicked glint.
Nick. Her mouth dried, and her tongue automatically moistened her lips. He’d seen her and now there was no turning back.
He moved forward with the easy grace of a panther and with a practised hand lazily swung the gate open and walked toward her car, his gait easy and rolling—a farmer’s walk complete with a faithful dog trotting by his side. This time he really did look like a farmer from the tip of his battered hat down to his worn elastic-sided boots. Thankfully a shirt still covered his chest but as he got closer she realised it was wet.
Damp cotton clung to well-defined pectoral muscles and solid biceps, outlining them in perfect, taunting detail. Her heart thundered so hard in her chest that she could hear it. Could he? For all that the shirt didn’t hide, it may as well have been off. Why had she pulled the wheel hard right at Sheep-Wash Corner? After all, her concern about a patient could have waited until tomorrow morning.
But that’s not really why you’re here, is it? You caved in and gave in to wanting to see where he lived. Gave in to wanting to see him.
Her palm connected hard with the top of the steering wheel and she welcomed the jarring sensation thudding painfully all the way to her shoulder. She was really starting to hate that challenging voice. She knew she should have just kept driving but she hadn’t so now she needed to salvage the situation.
Wanting to be on the front foot, she flicked the switch that operated her window and watched it wind down, determined to get in the first word. ‘Hello.’
He leaned forward, his arms resting casually on the door. ‘G’day. Glad you could make it.’
His slow, drawling delivery stroked her skin, stoked the banked heat inside her. She swallowed hard as his scent of rich earth, hard work and soap washed over her, tugging at a basic need. In her search for control she blurted out, ‘I was on my way back from visiting Tom Lenders and I wanted to ask you something.’
Dark brows rose, overriding the first crease of a frown as a flicker of disquiet appeared in his eyes. He pushed back from the door, the corded muscles in his arms thick like rope. ‘Put her in gear and I’ll meet you up at the house.’
‘Are you sure?’
He nodded and slapped the cab of the vehicle with his hand as if to say, Go through now.
With her gut churning she drove through the gate, but Turbo soon had her smiling as he bounded forward, racing the car up past an enormous fenced vegetable garden. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw Nick swing and latch the gate shut before turning and jogging back along the track. Pulling her eyes back to the road, she took the curve and a house came into view.
Wonder chased by regret immediately poured through her. A freshly painted weatherboard miner’s cottage with a corrugated-iron roof stood in front of her, its plain Victorian lines offset by the simple decorative carving at the top of each veranda post. She slipped out of the four-wheel drive, her feet crunching on gravel, and Turbo immediately dropped a ball at her feet, panting at her in enthusiastic anticipation.
Distracted, she patted his head, her gaze still fixed on the house. Whatever you want, my darling. Nothing will ever be too much for my wife and family. You know family is everything to me.
She swallowed hard against Anthony’s duplicitous voice and walked slowly up the box-hedge-lined path that led to the centre of the veranda and the front door flanked by matching aloe vera plants in heritage green wooden planters. Her shoes sounded loud on the hardwood boards as she stepped up from the worn bluestone step. Two wicker chairs sat invitingly on the veranda, with a low table in front of them. A sheaf of papers had been weighted down by a jug covered with an old-fashioned doily that kept flies from touching the contents. A well-thumbed novel lay face down, its spine deeply creased down the centre.
If there’d been a discarded scooter or skateboard nearby and some balls and a chalkboard, it would have been exactly as she’d pictured the house Anthony had promised her. The one she’d envisaged sharing with him and raising their family in.
Don’t go there. Anthony doesn’t want you. It’s over, you know it’s over.
Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and turned at the sound of Nick’s footsteps on the crushed white-rock path. ‘Great house.’
‘Thanks. I like it, although I wouldn’t want to spend a winter without installing some heating.’ He grinned at her. ‘Open fires are all very romantic but they don’t keep you very warm. It’s definitely a summer house.’
He pulled off his work gloves, dropped them onto the table and poured two glasses of what looked like lemon cordial from the jug and passed her a glass. ‘Grab a seat.’
Tendrils of warmth flicked through her veins as she lowered herself into the wide, comfortable chair. ‘Is that the plan after this summer? To use it as a holiday house?’
He leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching out in front of him, his left arm hanging down the side of the chair as his fingers rubbed Turbo’s head. ‘Probably. I love it down here but, like you, it’s just a short-term plan.’
She stiffened as the horror of returning to Melbourne merged with all her insecurities. ‘Why would you assume my plan is short term? Don’t you think I can cut it as a country GP?’
He levelled a prosaic stare directly at her. ‘You said this was your first GP rotation. That means you have to do a second one somewhere else.’
‘Oh, right.’ Dumb, dumb, dumb. She really should learn to think before she spoke. She took a slug of her drink and changed the subject. ‘This is delicious—what is it?’
‘Home-made lemon cordial.’ He trailed his finger around the rim of his glass. ‘You said you wanted to ask
me something about Tom Lenders?’
Thankful to be back on safe territory she grabbed onto the topic with enthusiasm. ‘Tom is a seventy-five-year-old man with hypertension and has recently been complaining of shortness of breath.’
‘Any history of asthma?’
‘No, and his chest X-ray is clear. There’s no sign of cardiomyopathy or congestive cardiac failure but he has an audible wheeze and his peak flow is lower than expected.’
He tilted his head, intelligent eyes scanning her. ‘So, what are your thoughts?’
She sat a bit straighter, feeling confident of her answer. ‘I’m thinking that he has a form of asthma precipitated by the betablocker he’s been taking for four years.’
Frown lines formed across his brow. ‘And you brought this case to review why?’
She caught the slight tone of censure and was puzzled by his reaction. ‘I wanted to be sure I didn’t miss anything.’
He nodded, his lips pursing together firmly. ‘You haven’t missed a thing but I think you’re missing the hospital system.’
His words sailed far too close to the truth for comfort and she smiled tightly. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to but, no, I wouldn’t say I was missing it.’
One black eyebrow rose enquiringly. ‘Really? You’ve come from an environment where every decision made by a resident is reviewed by the registrar and every decision made by the registrar is reviewed by the consultant.’ He put down his glass. ‘Although by the time third year’s over, most consultants are giving registrars a large amount of free rein.’
‘Hmm.’ She nodded and tacitly agreed. After all, what he said was true even though it hadn’t actually happened to her.
He leaned forward. ‘You would have found that?’
His gaze seemed to rivet itself to her mouth and she realised she was gnawing her bottom lip. She so didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want talk about how her life had fallen apart and she’d left her position at Prince William’s way too early.
She tried a politician’s tactic. Nodding, she gave another ‘Hmm’ and raised her arm. ‘What do you call that tree over there?’
His head didn’t move and his eyes didn’t even flicker in the direction of the solid tree with the unusual seedpods. ‘A banksia.’ His gaze narrowed and his jaw tightened. ‘You did finish third year?’
His accusatory tone lingered between them and his razor-sharp investigative look not only cornered her, it pinned her to the wall. Every instinct had her wanting to flee and she willed her phone to ring, wanting something, anything, to happen that would get her out of here. Adrenaline poured through her, the fight-and-flight response going into overdrive, and her body responded violently with a flush of nonsexual heat.
Horrible, unwanted heat washed through her, starting in her toes and building in intensity until all her skin burned so hot and tinder dry it felt like it would peel. Sweat immediately followed—drenching her, running in rivulets under her breasts, settling in the creases of her skin, threatening to soak her vest top. She gave thanks it was a hot summer’s day and the flush and sweating would go unnoticed.
You’re twenty-seven! What did you do to make this happen? Anthony’s bitter voice boomed in her head. She downed her drink, forcing away the unwelcome voice, willing the hot flush to subside and steeling herself against the painful reminder of what it really meant.
Nick rose in one fluid movement and silently refilled her glass before settling back into his chair. His quiet voice rumbled deeply around the veranda, laced with tough resolve. ‘As I’m acting as your mentor, I need to know how much experience you really have. You need to be honest with me, Kirby. I need the truth.’
The truth. Her heart pounded in agitation. He’d caught her out. She’d been double-checking everything because she hadn’t had enough experience as a senior medical officer. But the moment she told him she’d left Prince William’s early he’d ask why and the truth involved so many things she didn’t want to tell.
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The words read to a witness in court echoed in her mind. Suddenly a tiny shaft of light pierced the darkness and she knew she could tell Nick the truth. She sent up a silent vote of thanks that he hadn’t asked for the whole truth. That she wasn’t prepared to give.
Nick waited, watching a battle of emotions on Kirby’s oval face. She really didn’t want to tell him but he wouldn’t let her get away without telling him. He would have to write up a report on her and for an accurate assessment he needed to have a starting benchmark. But he didn’t want to sound like an inquisitor.
After all, she’d come out here to visit and he wanted it to be social more than work. He wanted a chance to be alone with her. He stood up and extended his hand. ‘How about we walk and talk? There’s a place I’d like to show you.’
Her already large eyes seemed to expand and her pale face flickered with gratitude mixed with resistant resignation. ‘If you insist.’ Her hand slowly slid into his.
‘I do.’ He pulled her to her feet and her reluctance seeped slowly into him, tagged by slowly building heat.
The moment she stood, she eased her hand out of his and walked toward the veranda steps.
Inexplicable loss streaked through him and he forced down every desire to grab back her hand. He strode after her. ‘This way—the path goes from the back of the house.’
They walked in silence for a few minutes and he finally broke it. ‘Come on, Sherlock, fill me in.’
She ducked under a low branch of a casuarina tree, her footfall hushed against the pile of dropped needles. ‘You’re right. I didn’t finish my third year. In fact, I only completed seven months.’
He held up another branch for her and gave in to his need to breathe deeply, inhaling her wildflower scent as she passed by. ‘That goes some way to explaining things.’
She gave a tight smile. ‘Good.’
With the set of her mouth and the line of her shoulders he knew she was holding back more than she was giving. He took a calculated gamble to get her to tell him the story. ‘Were you asked to leave Prince William?’
She came to an abrupt halt, indignation streaking across her face. ‘No, I was not asked to leave. In fact, I was asked to reconsider my resignation.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No.’ She sighed and kept walking. ‘I left for personal reasons.’
The path ended as they arrived at a creek lined with vibrant green tree ferns. Large fronds bent low toward the water, which burbled and rushed over and around granite boulders worn smooth by its action. Getting Kirby to tell him her story was like getting blood from one of the creek’s stones. ‘They must have been pretty big reasons if you left a job to come to this one before you were one hundred per cent ready.’
Her hands balled into fists and hung by her sides. ‘If breaking off an engagement constitutes big, I guess it was.’
Her words surprised him, mostly because he hadn’t expected her to have been engaged. He’d never considered marriage, it wasn’t part of his life’s plan, but he could empathise. ‘At least you broke it off before it involved the full catastrophe of property and children.’
She swung away from him, an agonising sound starting to break from her lips.
The sound stopped abruptly but not before it tore at something inside him. He reached out and touched her arm. ‘Hell, Kirby, I’m sorry, I just assumed it was you who broke it off.’
She turned back slowly toward him, her expression so full of hurt that it was the most natural thing in the world to pull her into his arms. With his forefinger he traced a line down her cheek. ‘He didn’t deserve you.’
As she looked up at him her voice cracked. ‘He didn’t want me the way I am.’
More than anything he wanted to banish the look of empty desolation that hovered in her beautiful eyes, haunting him. He tipped his head forward, feeling the caress of her breath on his face. ‘More fool him.’
She stared straight at him and snagged
her bottom lip with her teeth.
Desire thundered through him so hard it almost knocked the breath from his lungs. With his hand gently cupping her jaw, he lowered his mouth to hers, fusing his lips against her waiting softness and claiming what he’d dreamed about for days. She tasted of sugar tinged with citrus, of searing heat and need, and he lost himself in her, like a parched man stumbling into an oasis.
He trailed his tongue across her lips, touching, tasting and seeking entry, needing to bury himself in her heat and tang. Needing to absorb her essence, feel it in his veins.
Her mouth opened slowly under his and with a moan of need he accepted her unspoken invitation and deepened the kiss. Like an early voyager he explored and then he plundered, eagerly taking everything and still not getting enough. His arms tightened around her, moulding her soft curves to his toned body, treasuring the feel of having a beautiful, supple woman in his arms again. Stunned by how it far exceeded any memory.
Pulling away the loose band that barely held her hair in place, he breathed deeply, taking his fill of the aroma of cinnamon apples. His fingers splayed through her silky strands, revelling in the way their softness caressed his skin. As his mouth played over hers, he explored all the contours and dips, the peaks and hollows and left behind a firm imprint of himself.
The sound of the racing water of the creek, the songs of the birds and the rustling of the breeze through the ferns slowly retreated. All that existed was the feel of Kirby in his arms, the touch of her mouth against his and the way his blood pounded through him until every cell vibrated with the bliss of being alive.
‘Nick.’
Her voice seemed a long way away. ‘Hmm?’ He started to trail kisses down to her jaw.
‘Nick.’ Her voice sounded louder, insistent, and her hands gripped his upper arms.
The pressure acted like a brake. He lifted his head and looked at her through dazed eyes, her image slowly coming into focus. Her fine hair cascaded around her face in complete disarray, her lush lips were wet, pink and swollen, but it was the startled look in her eyes that centred him with thudding brutality.