by Fiona Lowe
Two pink spots burned Lauren’s otherwise pale cheeks. ‘In general practice it’s all about the relationship with the patient. For months I’ve had to give Mackenzie bad news and help her deal with her grief as she experienced yet another miscarriage.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Another lost dream.’
She sucked in a deep breath as if needing to steady herself. ‘The results of her chorionic villi sampling was my news to tell, not yours. You don’t have the right to swan in here and take over without even consulting me. I don’t need your help and I’d like you to leave.’
A thrum of disquiet stirred, underpinned by disappointment laced with worry. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to walk back through the doors of the clinic and face a long day of beachcombing, reading and going crazy. He wanted to work. Needed to work. ‘Surely you can cut a guy some slack for well-intentioned assistance?’
‘It’s not the sort of assistance I need.’
But I need this. ‘I’ll be more consultative, I promise.’
‘Between Surfside, Lexie, my mother, and me working reduced hours, we’re covered.’
Agitation swooped in, pushing out the feel-good emotions of the morning. ‘Why risk falling in a heap from working when you don’t have to? Hell, I’m here. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?’ Damn and blast. He’d meant to sound as if he was doing her a favour but all he could hear was the thread of pleading in his voice.
Her beautiful light brown eyes narrowed. ‘Why does an Australian Aid trauma surgeon on precious holidays want to waste his time working in general practice in Horseshoe Bay?’
‘Hell, Lauren,’ he said belligerently, trying to deflect her. ‘Do you always give people who are trying to help you the third degree?’
‘Only the ones who clearly have something to hide.’
‘I don’t have anything to hide.’
‘Good.’ She pressed the intercom. ‘Lexie, Charlie Ainsworth is just leaving so as soon as you see him exit the building, send in the next patient.’
‘But, Lauren—’
Her finger came off the intercom and Lexie’s voice cut off. Lauren skewered him with a look of icy determination. ‘Enjoy your day.’
His temper frayed. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Am I? Picture this. Without asking, I stroll into your operating theatre and do the complicated surgery you’ve spent days planning and dreaming about.’
‘I’d welcome it.’
‘Liar. You’d hate it.’
She was right, he’d be ropeable. He sighed. ‘Okay, fair call.’
She gave him a long, assessing look and it took everything he had not to squirm in the chair. Keep it all buried. He matched her with a direct gaze of his own and threw in a sardonic raised brow. She blinked first. Good. Standing slowly, she walked around the desk. As he was still sitting, it was pure power play so he rose and was immediately taller than her.
‘Charlie, what’s really going on?’
‘Nothing.’ He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Like I said, I was only trying to help you. I should have curbed my enthusiasm.’
She wriggled her nose. ‘I’d understand your help more if we’d had an emergency. What I don’t understand is the help with the mundane stuff that can wait, especially on a glorious blue-sky day with great waves. It’s almost as if you don’t want to be on holidays...’
He gave an ‘as if’ laugh to move her far, far away from the truth.
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, my, God, that’s it, isn’t it? It’s killing you not to be working.’
Every part of him wanted to deny it but she had him cornered. ‘You’ve got me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m a workaholic. So, really, you’re helping me by letting me work,’ he quipped, and added a big grin for good measure.
She didn’t laugh. In fact, the expression on her face was more aligned with pity than humour. ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
Okay? What woman ever said that to a refusal to discuss feelings? And yet, twelve years ago, he and Lauren had never talked about their emotions so in a way this ‘okay’ made sense. ‘What do you want me to do next?’ he asked, thinking about the patients in the waiting room.
‘According to the radio, there’s flathead biting off the end of the pier. You might be able to fill your day that way.’
‘Very funny.’
She hit him with an uncompromising stare. ‘Or you can tell me why you’re in Horseshoe Bay when you clearly don’t want to be on holidays. Then I’ll let you see some patients.’
‘I thought doctors were supposed to be caring people,’ he grumbled, trying to hide his anxiety.
‘We are.’ Her hand rested on his arm. ‘But we can also be our own worst enemies.’
He gazed down at her, wanting to lose himself in her clear gaze and kiss her until his mind was blank, but she wasn’t looking at him with anything other than concern for a friend. Damn it. He’d been the one to raise the friend issue. He’d planted that seed. What the hell had he been thinking? Every time he looked at her he wanted to pull her close, hold her tight and breathe in her fresh, sea scent. Who was he kidding? He wanted her naked—under him, over him, with him.
He gave himself a shake and decided the bare bones were all she needed—all he was prepared to give. ‘I got caught in a cyclone.’
‘Oh, God. That must have been terrifying.’
Not as terrifying as being home. ‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m fine but Australia Aid won’t put me in the field again until I’ve ticked all the trauma recovery boxes. The thing is, I’m better when I work.’
She tilted her head, her beautiful eyes assessing him, and he got the feeling she saw straight through him. ‘How long since you last had a holiday?’
‘I don’t do relaxation.’
‘I can see that. You look exhausted.’
Frustration bubbled in his veins. ‘Listen, I didn’t come to Horseshoe Bay to get the same lecture I’m getting from Australia Aid.’
‘That says a lot.’
‘Again...’ he breathed in deeply and tried to keep a lid on his temper ‘... I already have a counsellor, so...’
Her brows rose. ‘Prickly.’
He wasn’t touching that but his temper frayed anyway. ‘Can I work or not?’
The cogs of her intelligent mind were reflected in her all-seeing eyes. ‘Until I’m back at work, you can do the morning session and finish at one.’
That’s not enough. ‘It makes more sense for me to do the whole day.’
‘Not from where I’m standing. Do you have any idea how drawn you are? How unkempt you look?’
‘What the hell does that have to do with anything?’
‘It has everything to do with it. A lot of my patients are in better shape than you.’ She sighed. ‘Look, Charlie, I don’t know why you’re fighting your R&R but you need it. My offer’s a four-hour workday for three days and then we’ll review it. Take it or leave it.’
The girl he’d once been able to talk round with flattery and kisses was nowhere to be seen. ‘When did you become such a hardball negotiator?’
She didn’t laugh or smile and she didn’t reply using words—she didn’t have to, it was written all over her face. That’s when he remembered what she’d told him just before the car had careened at them.
Divorced.
He had an unreasonable urge to punch her ex-husband.
* * *
‘Watching paint dry is more exciting than this,’ Charlie grumbled.
‘You have to be patient,’ Shaylee said, her elfin face set in a serious and determined expression. ‘Ian says the fish know if you’re in a bad mood.’
Lauren laughed, loving the way children cut straight through the nonsense. ‘There you go, Charlie. Our lack of fish falls firmly at your feet.’
Instead of rolling his eyes, Charlie grinned at her over the top of Shaylee’s head—all white teeth and sparkling eyes as blue as the sea that lay at their feet. A bolt of pleasure whizzed through her, zeroing in between her legs with a flash of heat, making her thighs tighten and the rest of her twitch. Being friends with Charlie was killing her.
It was Saturday afternoon and they were on the end of the pier, trying to catch dinner. Lauren’s ribs were no longer hurting quite as much and after three days of enforced rest she had a bad case of cabin fever. She’d offered to take Shaylee fishing to free up her parents so they could attend and enjoy an eightieth birthday afternoon tea without worrying about a bored eight-year-old. Lauren wasn’t exactly certain how Charlie had ended up joining them on the pier, especially as he appeared to hate fishing, although she suspected he just hated being still. Was that why he was fighting his R&R? Perhaps she should suggest he do an ecotourism high-adrenaline holiday.
I don’t do relaxation, he’d said. He wasn’t kidding. His line was jiggling up and down in his hand like he had a tremor or a tic. Each day, after his morning session at the clinic, Charlie had called in on her at the cottage and given her a quick handover while he made her lunch. She was positive she hadn’t mentioned the fishing plans to him and yet he’d materialised in the car park just in time to help carry the gear. Why? For a moment she’d toyed with the idea that he’d taken on board her advice to find ways to chill out but, watching him, she knew the idea to be ludicrous.
‘You won’t get a bite if you keep jiggling the rod,’ she said, deliberately glancing away from his seductive smile.
‘I’m creating excitement and anticipation in the fish world by constantly moving the hook.’
She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. ‘Interesting strategy. Want to bet on it?’ Seriously? What are you doing?
His eyes lit up. ‘Fifty bucks?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of the person who doesn’t hook the first fish fillets the catch.’
‘Let’s take it one step further. The loser fillets and cooks.’
His dimples twinkled at her, making her feel giddy. ‘You’re on, Charlie. I’m so going to win this.’
‘Lauren!’ Shaylee squealed. Her line bobbed up and down wildly.
Charlie shot out his right hand to steady it and Lauren reeled in her own line before scrambling to her feet and kneeling behind Shaylee. ‘Okay, honey, we have to do this slowly.’
‘It’s pulling me,’ Shaylee cried with a hint of fear underneath her excitement.
‘Crikey.’ Charlie tightened his grip. ‘You can’t do this one-handed, Lauren. Reel in my line and I’ll help her.’
She grabbed his rod. ‘Slowly, Charlie. Slowly.’
‘I reckon you’ve caught a brick, Shaylee. Put your hands over mine.’ Charlie played the line, his hands looking large under the little girl’s.
‘Bricks don’t bite hooks, silly.’ But she was gazing up at Charlie as if he was some sort of hero.
Lauren knew that look—a long time ago she’d been guilty of it herself. Now she was wiser. She was never putting a man on a pedestal again. ‘Don’t break the line,’ she instructed—her shame and regret about Jeremy making the words more brusque than necessary.
‘Like that’s my intention,’ Charlie muttered, as he gave the line some slack.
A small crowd of anglers and onlookers gathered around them, many offering suggestions and pondering out loud what Shaylee might have caught.
‘Could be a flathead,’ a tourist offered.
Spiros Papadopoulos rolled his eyes at the ill-informed holidaymaker. ‘Have to be a bloody big one to bow the rod like that. More like salmon or whiting.’
‘What if it’s a shark?’ Shaylee asked, eyes wide.
‘Then we’ll get our picture in the paper.’ Charlie’s excitement matched the little girl’s.
As Charlie followed Spiros’s instructions, Lauren’s gaze fell to the play of muscles on his back, easily seen due to the combination of his current lack of weight and the thin and worn T-shirt. Ever since he’d told her about the cyclone, she’d found herself worrying about him. Being caught up in a natural disaster was bad enough but adding in the car accident made him a prime candidate for PTSD. That was, if he didn’t already have it.
I have a counsellor. But was he telling the counsellor the real story?
Lauren knew smart people were more than capable of using smoke and mirrors to lead counsellors away from the real issue or issues. She had a gut feeling Charlie was doing exactly that to her, let alone a counsellor. Each day at lunch he’d lean casually against the counter and draw her out. ‘Any flashbacks? You sleeping okay? Come on, eat a bit more than that.’
Yesterday, after three days of sitting around doing nothing, she hadn’t been hungry, and after eating half her sandwich she’d handed him the plate. ‘You have the rest.’
He shook his head. ‘Gran’s got lunch waiting for me. I’ll put some cling wrap over this so you can have it later.’
She wanted to believe he ate a late lunch each day with Anna, except the only problem with that was his grandmother was diabetic. If diabetics indulged in late lunches, they risked collapsing. When she added in the fact that Charlie was underweight for his height and breadth, she was certain he wasn’t eating enough. It was the reason that eluded her and brought her full circle back to PTSD.
Or cancer. Or a million other possibilities.
The doctor in her itched to examine him and run a raft of tests. The woman in her wanted to—what? Feed him? Help him? Hug him? Despite trying hard not to want to do anything, she was leaning towards all three.
‘Get a net,’ Charlie yelled. ‘Whatever it is, it’s big.’ He heaved and his back leaned into her—his warmth and enthusiasm giving her a rush.
She grabbed the net and scurried to his left, ready to scoop the flailing fish the moment it broke the surface.
‘Yuk!’ Shaylee shrank back into Charlie. ‘What’s that?’
Charlie laughed. ‘It’s a cracker of a squid, sweetie. It looks yuk but it will taste amazing.’
Lauren caught the prehistoric-looking cephalopod in the net to the cheers of the crowd and plunged it into the bucket to avoid being inked. Charlie stood up and held Shaylee’s arm aloft, as if she was a champion boxer. ‘Shaylee, the squid wrangler.’
One of the anglers sighed. ‘I’ve got a state-of-the-art squid jig and you caught it on a hook.’
His friend slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You gotta give her the luck, bro.’
‘She deserves it,’ Lauren said, thinking about Shaylee’s mother. ‘Hold it up, honey, and I’ll take a photo.’
Charlie helped Shaylee hold what looked to be about a two-kilogram squid. As Lauren lined up the yellow square in preparation for the photo, she read unadulterated joy on both their faces. It struck her that it wasn’t an emotion either of them wore very often. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Don’t be pathetic...again! ‘Smile.’
‘Ian! Sue!’ Shaylee called after the photo was taken. ‘Look!’
Lauren turned and waved to her parents, who were strolling along the pier arm in arm.
‘That’s a beaut, Shay. Looks like you’ve been having fun.’ Ian winked at Lauren before swinging the little girl around. ‘We’ll be eating well tonight.’
Lauren’s heart rolled. Her father had so much love to give and she was fortunate to be his daughter, even if there’d been times growing up when she’d wished she didn’t have to share him with quite so many other children. She loved her parents, but their well-developed sense of social justice sometimes left Lauren feeling unworthy. Although neither Ian nor Sue had ever said anything, she knew they were disappointed they weren’t already grandparents. Lauren was disappointed for them too. For herself. The sad memory of that long-ago miscarriage suddenly rushed her and one lone tear
resisted her rapid blinking and spilled over. She was thankful she was wearing sunglasses.
There was a whirlwind of packing up, of Sue and Ian making a fuss of Shaylee and pumping Charlie’s hand, thanking him for being there to help, and then her parents and Shaylee were in the car, driving away. Suddenly she was standing alone with Charlie under the Norfolk pines.
‘Still think fishing’s like watching paint dry?’
He grinned. ‘I think it’s more like being on call. There’s a lot of boring hanging around waiting and thumb-twiddling and then, wham! An adrenaline rush.’ He gazed down at her, the shadows cast by the sunlight pouring through the tree branches dancing on his face. ‘Of course, the best part of today is that you’re cooking.’
‘Hah! In your dreams. Shaylee caught it.’
His head dropped closer. ‘I reeled it in.’
Her stomach fluttered as his crisp, fresh scent circled her. ‘I netted it to stop it from slipping away.’
‘I see a problem.’ He tucked some strands of her hair behind her ear before his fingers lazily caressed it then slipped along the length of her jaw.
Mini-explosions of delight fizzed in her veins before seizing control of her mind and making all cogent thought difficult. It’s not Charlie making you feel this way, she quickly reminded herself. Ben or any other nice guy would generate the same buzz, because it’s been such a long time since you’ve been touched like this.
Lost in the bliss of his touch, she dug deep to find her voice. ‘You...you do?’ she said huskily.
But he didn’t reply, seeming also to have forgotten what they had been talking about. In an old but familiar way, the blue of his eyes deepened by the second, tugging her towards him as if she were hooked on a line and powerless to resist his pull. A tiny part of her cautioned, Don’t do this, but it held no sway. Curiosity was a far stronger beast. Would he kiss the same way he had all those years ago? Had he learned anything new? She had. She’d learned a lot—not so much about kissing but about men and about herself.
So, really, if she kissed him, it was all about proving the hypothesis that she was now a world-weary woman with eyes wide open, instead of a naïve eighteen-year-old weaving impossible dreams. This kiss was merely an experiment to prove to herself he was just another man.