Something akin to disappointment fluttered in her chest and she had to remind herself that once she was on the bus she’d never see him again, so what did it matter how Cal viewed women or relationships?
Thinking of the bus reminded her of an earlier, unanswered question.
‘Where will the helicopter take us?’
If he was surprised by the conversational switch, he didn’t show it, merely glancing her way before saying, ‘Derryville, I imagine. From there it’s a two-hour drive to Creamunna, but you can get the bus from Derryville.’
The dismissal in his words was unmistakable. So blunt, in fact, Blythe reacted before thinking.
‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, in fact!’ she snapped. ‘And what about you? I suppose you’re intending to do the martyr thing. Get patched up in the bigger town then hobble back to work, bravely holding the fort until Mark gets back. Fat lot of good you’ll be to the patients!’
She’d expected him to match her rudeness, perhaps demanding to know what business it was of hers anyway, but he said nothing, the silence in the end seeming so loud she had to break it.
If only she could think of something to say…
‘Actually—’ Cal beat her to it ‘—I’ve been thinking about that. You say you’re a doctor. Your job in the UK has fallen through. You’ve spent money you could ill afford flying up to the wedding. You’re on the spot—or almost on the spot. How about it?’
Blythe hesitated. She’d been so busy thinking up a cutting remark to answer his ‘you say you’re a doctor’, she’d almost missed the rest. And now, though she’d pieced it together in her head, it still didn’t seem to make sense.
‘After all, given your propensity to bring disaster down on people’s heads, it could even be seen as a way to make amends,’ he added, and she guessed from his tone of voice he was smiling as he spoke.
Pleased with himself, no doubt!
Smug!
‘You told me it was dirt in the fuel, not me, that caused your problem, so don’t try the guilt trip. The answer’s no, no way, not in a hundred years.’
‘What about a ‘‘please, Blythe’’? Didn’t you tell me that worked for your mother?’
‘We’ll leave my mother out of this.’
‘Then what about your Hippocratic oath? Aren’t you sworn to give help where it’s needed? For the next few weeks—six, in fact, if you’d be willing to stay until Mark returns—it’s most definitely going to be needed in Creamunna.’
He must be out of his mind, Cal decided. Not only suggesting this woman work with him, but practically begging her to stay. Although, if he could get over this physical attraction thing, it was a sensible idea. And the attraction was only physical! She was so scratchy, and defensive, and obviously scornful of men, she was the last kind of woman with whom he’d want to share a relationship.
‘I don’t think the Hippocratic oath mentioned Creamunna,’ she snapped, but the snap lacked bite and he sensed her weakening.
‘I’d pay well. The practice can afford it. Even if you could give me a couple of weeks—by then my shoulder and ankle will both be a lot better and I’ll be used to getting around with a stick. Please, Blythe—it’s for the townspeople, not me. They don’t deserve to be left with only a broken-down crock to provide services for them.’
I must be out of my mind to even be considering it, Blythe thought, but she had just over six weeks before her altered departure date, and she’d need to do something or go mad. She’d already been considering finding locum work to replenish the coffers…
‘Free board? Mark and I share a big house, tons of room, and we have a housekeeper who’s an inspired cook, so you wouldn’t have any extra duties at all. Just see to patients. I can sit in on consultations if you like so you won’t even have to study all their histories.’
He was stating facts, not pleading, yet Blythe could feel his persistence getting under her skin—the way his voice did, in fact—setting up strange flickering sensations in her nerves.
‘Let me think about it,’ she said, mainly to stop him talking.
‘When a parent says that to child, it usually means no,’ he said. ‘Why not? A hot date back in Brisbane? Some man waiting impatiently for your return? Or is it simply that you don’t like the country? Can’t take the dust and flies?’
Now the flickering sensations were in her blood, and they were fired by rage, not awareness.
‘Hot date indeed! Can’t take the dust and flies!’ She spat the words at him. ‘For someone asking a favour, you’re being extremely rude!’
Cal’s chuckle surprised her.
‘Well, sweet talking obviously wasn’t going to work, so I had to try something different. I thought the dust and flies jibe might get you.’ He paused, and she knew he’d turned to look at her. ‘But you’re an attractive enough woman. It was reasonable to suppose there was a man waiting for you somewhere. Is he in London? Is that the reason for the trip?’
Blythe was so distracted by this presumption—and so put out by the ‘attractive enough’ remark—she forgot what they’d been arguing about in the first place.
‘Why do men always assume a woman is incomplete without a man? As for thinking I’d go rushing off to London because of one, I like your cheek. Especially when your wife showed no inclination to go rushing off after you to Brisbane, or wherever it was you went to study!’
‘My ex-wife,’ he said, in a voice so cold Blythe shivered.
She stared into the flames, wondering why her remark had so effectively killed the conversation—such as it was. OK, so it had been a rude thing to say, but he’d been equally rude, and there’d been a casualness about their sparring that had lightened even the remarks to which she’d objected.
But obviously his wife’s defection had cut deeper than he made out, and while he could speak unemotionally, even jokingly of it, he couldn’t handle others bringing up the subject.
Blue light flickered close to the heart of the fire, and with her eyes mesmerised by its dance and the cold night closing around her, she felt a sudden wave of pity for the man sweep over her and heard a voice which sounded remarkably like her own say, ‘I suppose I could give you a couple of weeks.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘THANKS.’
Cal knew he should say more—express his gratitude more whole-heartedly—but while his professional self was relieved he’d found someone to share his workload, his personal self was less sure this was a good idea.
He glanced her way. Blythe’s head was bent towards the fire and the glow fed a pink translucence into the skin on the cheek he could see. Her hair was a dark cloud, lit here and there, when the flames flickered, with gold. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman…
‘Why is there no man in your life?’
Knew it was the wrong question the moment it slipped out. She’d already ripped shreds off him for suggesting there might be one, so to probe as to the absence…
Dumb, dumb, dumb!
But though he’d expected a dressing-down—or some kind of angry retort—he received instead a smile.
‘It must be because I’m hungry I haven’t thrown the fire at you,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps the isolation makes personal questions seem OK.’
She thrust her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face, the long fingers combing it backwards so he saw her whole profile instead of just one pink-flushed cheek.
‘I was off men for a while, but recently I’ve decided on a whole new approach to the male-female thing.’ She turned so she was facing him and, though he couldn’t see it, he knew she must be grinning, for mischievous delight filtered into her voice as she continued.
‘I’ve decided to go for the practical approach. I’m a woman, I enjoy the company of men, and I—’ She stopped abruptly, looking up to the sky as if inspiration might come from on high.
Then she looked back at him and finished what she’d been saying in a voice that dared him to comment.
‘I like…sex. W
e’re both adults here and there’s no other way to say it that doesn’t sound twee or prudish. I’m not saying I’m a sex maniac, or that I can’t do without it, but I’ve come to the conclusion that men have had this sex thing worked out better than women for years. They meet a woman to whom they’re attracted and the first thing that pops into their head is how they can get her into the cot. They begin a campaign with that end in mind.’
She turned away to stir the fire, sending a bright shower of sparks into the air.
‘Women, generally speaking, though things are changing now, start from some inbred position where they connect sex with love and love with marriage so they get tangled up right from the start because they’re working on a different campaign. By the time they get to bed with the guy, they’re thinking relationship whereas he’s thinking satisfaction.’
It was a strange conversation to be having in the middle of nowhere, but Cal had seen rough bushmen turn to poets by a campfire at night, so he wasn’t altogether surprised. Though the content was certainly different to the conversations at a mustering camp…
‘So, you’re going for satisfaction instead of relationships from now on? Is that what you’re saying?’
Blythe tilted a defiant chin in his direction.
‘Yes, it is. In fact, after you and I had talked a bit and you’d made me laugh—I can’t remember why, something stupid I guess—I thought you might have been a good candidate for a trial run. Whatever chemical it is that jumpstarts physical attraction had kicked in and we danced well together and that’s a physical thing, isn’t it?’
She stopped as if she’d finished the conversation, leaving Cal stuck out on a limb.
And very put out!
‘And?’ he prompted.
‘And what?’
‘And what happened then? Were you still considering me for the guinea pig when we crashed? Is it because I’m injured you’ve decided I wouldn’t do? I’m sure once I’m patched up, an inventive woman like you could think of some way to conduct your experiment.’
‘Don’t take it so personally,’ she retorted, then she chuckled and reached out to touch him lightly on his good shoulder. ‘Actually, that was a really good remark, wasn’t it? That’s exactly the kind of thing men say to women when they’re edging away from relationship situations. But in your case, it wasn’t the injury—I’d crossed you off before that. Neither was it anything against you. It just seemed a bit crass to start with someone who’s more or less related. I mean, if we end up at a family christening together some time in the future, and you’ve remarried, it might be awkward.’
‘I didn’t think a woman who wore a curtain to a wedding would know the meaning of awkward,’ Cal snapped, then instantly regretted it as she bowed her head and poked unnecessarily at the fire.
He’d glimpsed her vulnerability before, but she cloaked it so well with bravado he tended to forget about it.
‘I’m sorry—that was a low blow. Blame it on perversity. I was hitting back because there was some part of me that reacted badly to being taken out of your calculations. Probably the part of me that was attracted to you right from the start. It’s a funny thing, attraction, isn’t it?’
She lifted her head and because she’d made the fire flare up with her poking, he saw her smile.
‘Really weird,’ she agreed. ‘But no weirder than this conversation. I’ve said things to you, a stranger, that I wouldn’t say to my best friend. I mean, I’ve thought this stuff about relationships and all, but that’s as far as I’ve got. Now suddenly I’m talking to you about chemistry and sex.’
‘And suggesting we’re practically related, which we’re not, and marrying me off again, which isn’t going to happen. I mean, I’ve got two kids, so there’s no real reason to remarry.’
‘Because you’ve been there and done that—we keep coming back to that phrase, don’t we?’
Cal thought for a moment, then, perhaps because he sensed he’d hurt her earlier, or perhaps because she’d been so open and honest herself, he found himself telling her the truth.
‘I think if the first experience is good, a man would be happy to repeat marriage, but I watched my wife fall in love with my brother—really fall in love in a way she never had with me. Sheer self-preservation makes me tell the story differently, but what you assumed had happened did happen, Blythe…’
‘Wounding you in such a way thick scars have grown around your heart?’ she finished for him. ‘Been there, too. Perhaps we should start abbreviating like we do on emails and text messages. BTDT, we can say to each other.’
Then she leant forward from where she was now kneeling by the fire, and kissed him carefully, but very firmly on the lips, before drawing away and looking up at the sky.
‘Moon madness, do you think?’
‘There’s no moon,’ Cal said quietly.
‘No moon, but a gazillion stars,’ Blythe said, as she took in the wide arc of the heavens—the stars lighting the night like diamante´ scattered on black velvet.
Her heart ached for this man who had suffered what must be the ultimate betrayal. What she’d been through had been minor in comparison. But wanting to weep for him was no help, and there was no way she could rewrite the past.
But she could at least try to make him as comfortable as possible for tonight. If she concentrated on practical matters…
‘You should try to sleep.’
She reached out for her bag and held it open towards the fire so she could find the tablets she had. She was glad it was dark, so Cal couldn’t see the emotion she knew would be showing in her cheeks. It had been bad enough telling the man she fancied him as a sex object, but then to have her guess about his marriage confirmed…
‘You were out of it for a while and, though it’s probably only mild concussion, you should still rest.’
She hoped she sounded cooler than she felt.
Her fingers found the crumpled blister pack and she pushed out two tablets, poured water into the vitamin container and edged closer to hand him first the tablets then the drink.
‘Better have another drink,’ she told him, wriggling backwards again. Touching his hand as she’d passed him the water had been enough to tell her that, although her mind had rejected Cal, the chemistry was still at work.
But given the overall situation, she’d better learn to ignore it.
‘Now, you’ll be best off lying on your left side. Can you wriggle around so you’re facing the fire? Then I can lie behind you to keep your back warm.’
‘And what will keep your back warm?’
Blythe grinned at him.
‘Mortification most probably. I still can’t believe I told you all the things I did.’
‘I’m honoured,’ Cal said, though Blythe guessed he didn’t mean it. She’d probably just confirmed his not-so-high opinion of women.
He was shifting his position by pulling himself along the ground with his good foot—coming closer, which caused apprehension where embarrassment had been.
‘But you’ve got it wrong about the way to sleep. I’d be happy for you to keep my back warm, but you should be the one near the fire. I’ll lie here so you can curl around me, and your back will be warmed by the fire.’
‘What about your front? You’re the injured one. The one who should be kept warm.’
He smiled at her.
‘Believe me, I’ll be warm,’ he said, and heat, not from mortification, shimmied through Blythe’s body.
Get your mind off sex, she ordered herself, standing up and moving away with a muttered excuse she hoped he’d take for a personal need. Though, thinking of that, she should use the time—and give him time and space for whatever he might need to do.
Eventually, they settled down on the hard ground, sharing the coat which he’d opened and spread by the fire and covered by his dinner jacket and the remnants of the curtain. Blythe felt Cal’s warmth feed into her body, while her nose, pressed close to his neck so they could share his bag as a pillow, drew i
n the man smell of him.
Yet, in spite of his nearness all around her, the night pressed close, the silence so complete it almost echoed. And into her heart crept all the doubt and fear talking had kept at bay earlier.
‘I’m glad we’re snuggling,’ she whispered, when a muttered curse told her he was still awake and, no doubt, hurting. ‘The world seems so much bigger out here. All the nothingness makes two humans seem very, very small and totally insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I guess I feel as lost out here as you did in the city.’
She’d tried to make it sound like she was joking, but the quaver in her voice sounded more like pathos than laughter.
‘Damn this shoulder,’ Cal said, shifting then wincing, so she moved before he could bump against her. ‘I should be holding you, not the other way around. Offering you comfort and protection—and not because you’re a woman and I think you need protection. Or because of the chemistry you mentioned earlier. But because this is my environment.’
He rolled over onto his back and reached out for her with his good hand.
‘Look, my shoulder is aching like hell whichever way I lie, so I’ll stay on my back and you come and cuddle up to my good side. Let me hold you, Blythe. That’s the least I can do.’
It sounded great—definitely the best offer she’d had for some time. She scuttled around him, carrying the dinner jacket and curtain, then settled herself down beside him, chin resting on his good shoulder, his arm holding her close.
‘Now I’ll tell you stories,’ he said, and the deep mellow voice, telling her about campfires and musters and the sound of cattle lowing in the night, eased all her fears and soothed her into sleep.
Help arrived with the dawn. First in the guise of a laconic farmer.
‘Missus thought you might like a hot drink and a bit of tucker,’ he announced, climbing out the cab of his ute and pausing briefly to lift a box from the tray back before heading towards them.
‘Soon as I saw you both sit up I radioed the missus to call the rescue service and tell ’em I’d found you.’
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