Whatever, he turned to Jim and said calmly, ‘Want to leave her here a few days until the foal’s steady enough to travel?’
Jim looked around, then turned anxiously back towards the mare.
‘The old girl could probably do with a break after what she’s been through, but…’
Tom read his dilemma. ‘You’re welcome to stay at the house,’ he added quickly. ‘Then, when you’re ready to move on, I’ve a big double horse-float—we could fashion a sling in the second stall so the foal’s still close to his mother but not in danger of being kicked or trampled or falling and hurting himself.’
Jim nodded and made a gruff noise that could have been thanks, then, as the colt finally got all four legs working together, he hurried over to help support the wobbling animal and guide him towards his mother.
Tom’s other visitor, meanwhile, was squatting on the dusty drive, watching the antics of the newborn foal with a smile of such delight it lit her entire face to a luminous kind of radiance. Somewhere in the operation Anna had lost her hat, and he could see the streaky fair hair, some still held back by a rubber band, though most had come loose and clung wetly to her smooth skin.
She’d obviously had a wash, because her wet T-shirt now clung to well-shaped breasts. But she was still a mess, he reminded himself.
And a woman.
And engaged!
Or was the engagement ring another ploy? Something to lull his suspicions while she wiled her way into his affections?
He looked at her again, and smiled wryly to himself. He was becoming as paranoid as she claimed her cat was. Mess or not, she was utterly beautiful—the kind of woman who could attract any man she wanted. So wiling her way into the affections of a lowly country vet was about as likely as the foal he’d just delivered becoming a racehorse.
But, boy, did her kisses pack a punch…
‘You got a stall or yard where we can put them?’
Jim’s question reminded him of more important issues, and he turned his attention to them.
‘No yard with grass on it, unfortunately. I was irrigating a couple of paddocks for a while, to keep some green pickings for patients, but my dam’s about dry. I’ve got a big stall, and some grain and lucerne for feed. Give me a few minutes to spread some bedding straw in it, then we can settle them in.’
Tom strode away, glad of an excuse to get away from the distraction of the beautiful woman—a distraction that was nothing more than a physical reaction, exacerbated by his prolonged—but self-inflicted—celibacy.
‘I’ll give you a hand.’ Her voice came from right behind his shoulder, and as she drew level he realised her stride easily matched his own.
‘I’ve had horses—well, one horse,’ she said, perhaps interpreting his sideways glance as doubt. ‘I do know how to throw bedding straw around.’
She smiled, and as his celibacy-weakened body reacted—mightily—to that smile, his head wondered how the hell the idiot called Philip had ever let her out of his sight—let alone agreed to being parted from her for six months!
They spread the straw, filled the water trough, checked the feed bin was clean, then stepped out of the stall as Jim, carrying the big foal, led the mare inside.
‘There are small grain bins all along the wall of the tack room next door,’ Tom told Jim. ‘Help yourself to whatever you think she’ll need.’ He was about to turn away when he remembered the green feed. ‘The lucerne’s in the barn just beyond the tack room.’
‘I’ll get that for you if you like,’ Anna said, ignoring Tom completely but smiling at Jim. ‘How much do you need?’
‘I thought you had a cat needing attention,’ Tom growled, while Jim, perhaps conscious of the waves of disgruntlement Tom knew he must be giving off, assured Anna he could manage.
Not that she seemed in any hurry to move away. She was smart enough not to approach the foal too closely, but was obviously fascinated by its newborn wonderment as it tested its ability to stand and move and look about.
‘The cat?’ Tom reminded her again, and she turned towards him, a faint flush painting the fine, clear skin a delicate pink.
‘I suppose we should get back to her,’ she said reluctantly, then she smiled. ‘But he’s so beautiful, he’s hard to leave, isn’t he?’
Jim beamed at her, as proud as he would have been if the remark had been directed at him.
‘He’s that, all right!’ he agreed. ‘A real beaut! And you’ve been a real good sport, too, miss.’
She flushed again at the compliment, but as she finally tore herself away from the newborn colt to accompany Tom back towards the house, it was the word intriguing her.
‘Beaut! That’s an Australianism, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘And it means more than beautiful, doesn’t it?’
Tom glanced at her and saw the tiny pucker of a frown, as if she was giving this matter as much concentration as she had given his problem with the letter-writers earlier.
‘I suppose so,’ he agreed. ‘It means great, terrific, wonderful, but is used as a noun as well as an adjective.’
His visitor nodded, as if the explanation was acceptable.
‘About the cat,’ she said, switching the subject with such rapidity that if he hadn’t had two sisters he might have been startled. ‘Now you’ve invited Jim to stay, you probably don’t want to come over to the hospital.’
‘Whyever not? He’ll be busy with the horses for a while, and even when he’s done he certainly won’t expect me to entertain him. I’ll tell him I’m going and that he can mosey on up to the house whenever he feels like it—take a shower, help himself to a beer or something to eat.’
The frown reappeared. ‘But he’s a stranger, isn’t he? Yet you’d leave him in your house?’
Tom smiled as he realised what Anna was getting at.
‘It’s called country hospitality,’ he explained. ‘Because I’ve offered it, Jim won’t abuse my trust. One day, I might be stuck somewhere and need a bed for the night. It’s not often people are turned away out here in the bush.’
Anna stared at him for a moment, then shook her head, and Tom guessed that she neither understood nor fully believed him. And if the concept of trust threw her, boy, was she ever in for a steep learning curve about other aspects of country life!
Tom moved away, heading back towards the stall, but Anna was still worrying over this mad idea of Tom leaving a stranger on his own in his house. With a horse-float to load everything into, Jim could strip the place in no time. Not that there would be much to strip if the kitchen was anything to go by!
‘And speaking of country hospitality—’ Tom had materialised by her side ‘—I think both of us could do with a quick shower. I’ve even a selection of women’s clothes so you should be able to find something clean to put on after it.’
Anna peered suspiciously at him.
‘Don’t tell me women send underwear as well as letters,’ she said. ‘My mother used to talk about girls throwing underwear at some pop star—back when she was growing up.’
He laughed again, and was still chuckling to himself as he said, ‘That’s a better assumption than the other one a woman might make—that previous women in my life had left the stuff. Actually, it’s clothing my sisters keep here—presumably because it’s past its fashion use-by date. But up here no one would care, so they can wear it around the place when they come for holidays.’
Anna wanted to ask more about these sisters, but he strode off, leaving her with no alternative but to follow. A shower and clean clothes—the offer was too good to refuse.
‘There’s a clean towel, soap, even shampoo, I imagine, in the bathroom right through there,’ he told her, when she entered the kitchen to find him stripping off his wet and smelly shirt. ‘I’ve a second shower out the back. I use it most of the time, so the girls leave their stuff in that bathroom.’
Anna heard the words, but her mind wasn’t processing them. It was too busy taking in the sight of a tanned, sleek torso, so beautifully
and precisely muscled it could have been a bronze cast of the perfect male body.
Well, not all the body—just the top half.
She saw his hands move to his waist, unbuckling his belt, and realised she’d better stop this open-mouthed—figuratively, not literally, she hoped—inspection of this stranger. If he wasn’t used to having company he was likely to strip off right there in front of her.
So she should move…
‘Through there,’ he said, snapping undone the stud on his sturdy work trousers and indicating the door with a jerk of his head.
The words and movement broke the spell and Anna practically sprinted through the doorway, down a short passage and into the bathroom. Once there, she slumped onto the edge of the bath, her knees too weak to support her.
‘You’re going weak-kneed over a male torso?’ she muttered to herself, then looked up, afraid she’d been overheard because Tom tapped on the door then poked his head and one arm around it.
‘Plastic bag for your dirty clothes.’ The hand at the end of the arm dropped a plastic supermarket bag onto the bathroom floor. ‘The girls’ bedroom is next on the right. The stuff’s in the cupboard and drawers. Help yourself.’
His head disappeared and she heard his footsteps retreating, but when she stood up the weak-kneed phenomenon persisted.
‘Nonsense!’ she told herself, stripping off her clothes—with difficulty considering the state of her knees—and shoving them into the bag. ‘He’s just a man—and a practical one at that—and there’s nothing special—apart from a terrific body—and a peanut-chocolate voice—about him…’
The shower was running hot by now so she stepped beneath the steaming stream and concentrated on ridding her hair and body of the stench of horse urine.
‘Hurry up in there if you want me to see that cat!’
Once again he must have poked his head inside the bathroom door because she wouldn’t have heard him so clearly otherwise. Apparently having sisters had led him to ignore bathroom privacy, she thought to herself as she turned off the water—pleased it had been hot enough to envelop the room in a dense fog—and rubbed herself at least partially dry.
She wrapped a capacious towel around her naked body, opened the door to check the passageway was clear, then made a dash for the room he’d indicated. Two single beds suggested it had been furnished with visitors in mind, and the fittings—a dressing-table with an old embroidered doily on it and a cupboard with a silk rose attached to the doorhandle—told her the usual visitors were female.
Anna opened a drawer and found underwear, but obviously for a much younger or smaller woman than her. Besides, the idea of wearing someone else’s underwear wasn’t all that appealing.
Yet again she was startled by a door opening and a hand appearing in the aperture. This time the hand dropped a plastic-wrapped package.
‘Thought you mightn’t like someone else’s underwear, but the girls often pinch mine which seem, by some mysterious metamorphosis, to fit both of them. This pair’s new.’
His footsteps told he’d retreated again before she properly made sense of what he’d said, but the package proved to be a new pair of hipster briefs in sensible denim-coloured cotton.
Gratefully, Anna ripped the plastic off and pulled them on, then tried another drawer and found a range of shorts—including a pair she was reasonably sure would fit. She was buttoning a big shirt she’d found in the cupboard when he knocked again, but this time didn’t poke his head in.
‘Ready?’
‘One minute,’ she called back, turning to the dressing-table and deciding using someone else’s brush was better than walking around with wet tangles in her hair. Minimally!
Exactly one minute later Anna was out—her hair hanging wetly on her shoulders.
‘OK, let’s go see the cat!’ He was waiting in the kitchen and took her by the elbow as if he’d known her all his life.
Was there such a thing as country familiarity?
Similar to country hospitality?
But the touch was nice—non-sexual and nonthreatening. A friendly gesture, and one which warmed the lonely place inside her which she’d been trying to deny was there.
She’d think about the heat it generated later…
He took her down the shallow steps then guided her towards a battered, dust-covered vehicle that might once have been pale blue. She knew from the bulky shape it was one of the four-wheel-drives which were common on country roads, and she was wondering how he’d feel if she wrote ‘Wash me’ in the dust when a loud jangling noise made her shy away from Tom, turning back towards the surgery from where it had emanated.
‘Is it the burglar alarm?’
She hoped it wasn’t—she wouldn’t have liked to have said ‘I told you so’ to Tom.
‘No, it’s the bloody phone. When I turn the sound up so I can hear it in the yards or stables, it changes character and makes that terrible racket. Excuse me a minute.’
He dashed towards the small building, hauling a bundle of keys from his pocket as he ran. Within moments he was out of sight—then the noise stopped.
But he was no less hurried coming out, jogging across the stretch of bare ground and once again grasping her arm.
‘Never rains but it pours. Another pregnancy emergency, but this time it’s your baby, Doc, not mine.’
‘What do you mean, my baby?’ Anna demanded, as he hustled her into the passenger side of the dusty four-by-four, then darted around the bonnet and climbed in beside her.
‘Human.’
CHAPTER THREE
TOM started the engine, slipped the vehicle into gear and took off with a screech of rubber and skid of pebbles beneath his wheels. Neither did he slow down once on the bitumen roads beyond his grid. In fact, they roared through the town so quickly Anna looked around, certain a police car should be following them.
Tom was silent until they’d left the houses far behind, then turned off down a corrugated dirt road.
Anna clung to the handle above the door as they ricocheted across the top of the corrugations.
‘There are different views on driving over these roads,’ he told her, smiling at her obvious apprehension. ‘Mine is if you go fast enough you don’t go right into every rut. The patient’s Dani, my receptionist. They’ve got fifty acres out here. Run goats. She’s not due for another eight weeks, and her husband’s away—he’s a truckie.’
Anna made a mental note of ‘truckie’ for her Australian thesaurus, then concentrated on the real issue.
‘But it won’t be my job to deliver the baby. I haven’t started work yet. Dr Drouin is in charge until Sunday.’
‘He’s up at the rodeo up at Placid Springs, and I heard only this morning that Peter Carter, the private GP in town who’s officially on call, is in bed with summer flu.’ Tom threw this explanation at her as he screeched to a halt in front of a gate.
He waited a second then snapped, ‘Well, don’t just sit there, get the gate!’
‘Get the gate?’ Anna repeated, puzzled by the order yet beginning to feel the anxiety Tom was obviously suffering.
‘Open it!’ he roared, and she all but fell out of the car in her haste to obey.
As she swung it wide and he drove through, she realised it made sense. If left to the driver, he’d have had to have got out, opened it, got back into the car to drive through, then got out again to close it.
She made another mental note—passengers opened the gates!
The wild ride eventually came to an end outside a small, low-set bungalow.
‘Is she having contractions? Is that the problem? Eight weeks to go—thirty-two weeks—it’s very early.’
‘I don’t think she’s in labour, just really crook.’ Tom was already out of the car, sprinting towards the house, but Anna still heard his reply.
Crook? Obviously not as in criminal, though a friend in Melbourne had used the word that way. Perhaps it meant ill.
She’d opened the door, dropped down to the ground,
and was hurrying after him, pleased she’d had time to have a shower but wondering now what the patient would make of her in the baggy shorts and too-big shirt. Though this might be more appropriate attire for the country than her own clothes.
So much to learn…
At least her patient wouldn’t know Anna was wearing Tom’s underwear.
Following Tom into the house, she realised Dani wouldn’t be worrying about anything—particularly not the doctor’s attire. The woman slumped on the couch was seriously ill.
Tom knelt beside her and put his arms around her shoulders.
‘What happened, Dani?’ he asked gently.
‘Feel sick,’ Dani replied.
‘We need to get you straight to hospital,’ Anna told her, kneeling in front of the woman and studying her flushed face and unfocused eyes. Anna pressed her fingers into the puffy, swollen ankles and saw the indentations left behind. The hypertension and oedema were obvious and no doubt a blood test would reveal an excess of protein in Dani’s blood. The three symptoms of pre-eclampsia, a condition dangerous and potentially—should it move to eclampsia—deadly for both the pregnant woman and the child she carried.
Dani needed hospitalisation—but how? Wait for an ambulance? Even at the cracking pace favoured by her chauffeur, it seemed to Anna to have taken an age to drive here—and what if an ambulance wasn’t available?
‘We’ll take her,’ Tom said, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘I can lift her, you go ahead and open the car door.’
Anna didn’t argue, though she did race through the small house to grab a pillow and a blanket off the double bed, carrying them with her and spreading the blanket on the back seat of Tom’s vehicle, then pushing the pillow up against the far door.
‘She should be lying down,’ she explained, as Tom reached the car with his semi-conscious burden. ‘I’ll squat beside her so she doesn’t roll off the seat.’
He didn’t argue, simply leaning in and settling Dani down on the blanket, then frowning as Anna wedged herself into the space between the seats.
Outback Doctors/Outback Engagement/Outback Marriage/Outback Encounter Page 4