Outback Doctors/Outback Engagement/Outback Marriage/Outback Encounter

by Meredith Webber

  She flung back a mane of extravagantly curled red hair.

  ‘Any red hair you see in this town, there’s sure to be some Russell in them somewhere, although Granny and young Aaron’s family are black Russells. Mostly.’

  Caitlin watched as her informant manoeuvred the captured bagel into a crisp white paper bag. She knew news travelled fast in country towns, but this fast? And as to opposition, apart from Connor, everyone she’d met so far had greeted her with enthusiasm, not doubts and fore-warnings of disaster. OK, so it was only three people, hardly a widespread sample, but all three had been unanimous in their interest.

  ‘That’s three dollars fifty,’ the woman added, plonking the white package on the counter. ‘Do you think we’ll be on TV again? The town, I mean?’

  Uh-oh! Was this what lay behind the communal interest? The lure of momentary stardom on the small screen? Caitlin counted out some change and handed it to the woman.

  ‘I really doubt it,’ she said, but her denial hadn’t been heard, for the woman was speaking again, explaining how the front of the shop had been in the first shot and her daughter had been coming out at that very moment. Fleeting moments of glory!

  ‘Great!’ Caitlin said heartily, knowing a response of awe or wonder was indicated. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to you. I’ll see you again.’

  She made her escape, her head jostling with thoughts of red Russells and TV cameras. Even if her research proved successful, she knew it would be a beginning, not the kind of headline-grabbing breakthrough TV news devoured with nightly gusto.

  People nodded to her as she walked along the street. Did they all know who she was, or was it their customary politeness to a stranger? She nodded back, and kept walking, past a newsagent, a shoe shop, a narrow-fronted supermarket and up to the hotel on the corner. Across the road, people walked in and out of the post office, and further down the street she could see a bank and fresh-produce market. Typical country town—a wide main street with dusty vehicles parked at an angle to the kerb.

  Yet not so typical if Connor was to be believed. Rounding the corner beneath the overhanging veranda of the old hotel, she pulled the bagel out of the bag. Now she was out of the main street—out of the public eye—she could satisfy the demands of her stomach and eat it on her way home.

  Home? Could she call that sparsely furnished temporary dwelling home? She finished the bagel and grinned to herself.

  Yep! While she had a bed and her beloved computer, with a modem to link her to the lab, anywhere could be home.

  Above her, a bird called to his mate, and she found her grin fading. Had Connor been right to scorn her life? Shouldn’t there be more?

  She shrugged the questions aside. One day! She’d always told herself that one day she’d want more—perhaps a man, possibly marriage, probably children. But first she had to cement her place in her chosen scientific field, make sure the niche she was carving for herself with such determined dedication, stubbornly butting her head against the brick walls of doubt and prejudice, was secure.

  Crossing the road to the hospital, she paused on the pavement, seeing the child she’d once been flying high on the swing. Was she still like that child—always wanting to go higher and higher? Would ‘one day’ never come because of her ambition?

  ‘Dr O’Shea!’

  The male voice drew her back to the real world. Mike Nelson stood on the veranda of the hospital, beckoning her.

  She walked briskly towards him, pleased to be diverted from such uncustomary and puzzling thoughts.

  ‘Your boss phoned,’ Mike said when she was close enough for normal conversation. ‘Said he’d tried to email you some new information on the viral research, but the email bounced back so he sent it to the hospital computer.’ Mike handed her a folder with a sheaf of paper in it. ‘This is it. On a more personal note, my wife also phoned. Said she’d already asked Connor to eat with us tonight and wondered if you’d like to join us.’

  Caitlin felt a familiar irritation flicker down her spine. If there was one thing she hated when she was working, it was social invitations. They forced her into making polite noises and showing interest in other subjects while her mind was grappling with tenuous and unstable theories.

  Still, she’d hardly started working and she needed all the co-operation she could garner in this town. She smiled at Mike.

  ‘I’d be delighted. What time and where?’

  He returned her smile.

  ‘Seven. I’ll ask Connor to drive you, it’s silly taking two cars. See you then.’

  Mike turned away, disappearing through the front door of the hospital.

  Caitlin stared after him, thinking about his smile. If he’d been a woman she’d have suspected it was smug—a little unsubtle matchmaking at work here?

  And that thought brought its own reaction—the slightly breathless feeling and arrhythmias again.

  Ridiculous! she scolded herself, as she made her way around to her temporary home. It was too soon to be imagining an attraction to Connor Clarke, and ‘one day’ was still a long way off!

  Forcing her mind back to work mode, she glanced at the information Mike had given her, sorted her own notes into order and entered some of the data into the computer. Then, using Melissa’s lists, she phoned the Laurence and Jackson homes to make appointments for the following day.

  Neither Judy Laurence nor Anne Jackson—‘it’s Ms not Mrs’—seemed surprised by her call. On the contrary, they seemed interested, even eager. Both would be happy to see her on the following day and, no, neither felt Connor’s presence would be necessary.

  That’s one up to me, Dr Clarke, Caitlin thought, surprising herself with her gleeful delight. She jotted down the appointment times beside the addresses, and wondered what he’d have to say about it when she saw him later.

  Connor came at seven to collect her. Caitlin was ready, dressed in a conservative calf-length skirt and shirt she’d brought with her, hoping to impress the country people with a ‘sensible’ and ‘practical’ image. She’d also decided not to mention work. If he wanted to discuss it, let him bring it up.

  Reminding herself of this, she opened the door to him—a tall, well-built man wearing fawn chinos and a dark jade shirt that would no doubt highlight the green in his eyes. Although he was standing in the glare of the security light outside her door, she couldn’t see his eyes, for he had turned towards the hospital where someone had let out a piercing wolf-whistle.

  ‘That’s Nellie,’ he grumbled, as Caitlin stepped out to join him and pulled the door shut behind her. ‘Can’t bear to think she might be missing something. I should go over and tell her we’re just going up to Mike’s for dinner, and that it’s strictly business.’

  ‘Well, heaven forbid she might think it was a date,’ Caitlin muttered scathingly, disconcerted by her reaction to his words.

  He turned towards her and chuckled.

  ‘Sorry! That sounded rude, didn’t it? Incidentally, you should lock the door when you’re not here. Not that I think anyone would steal anything, but there are curious people everywhere. They’d not see anything wrong in walking into an unlocked house to check out your possessions.’

  ‘A computer and a bed?’ Caitlin teased, pleased his mood had lightened. ‘Anyway, as far as I know, there’s no key. Certainly not one in the lock.’

  Connor looked down at her and frowned. So much for a lightened mood!

  ‘There should be a key,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll go over and tell Nellie to keep an eye out tonight and find one for you tomorrow.’

  He strode away, halted suddenly, then turned back towards her.

  ‘Come along, I’ll introduce you.’

  Gracious invitation, she thought as she followed his tall figure across to the hospital. What on earth was eating the man?

  Connor took the steps in one bound, then turned to see if the visitor was following.

  Which was a mistake. He should have continued to ignore her. It would have caused fewer problem
s in his groin.

  ‘You there, Nellie?’ he called, motioning Caitlin into the section of the kitchen accessible to all. ‘This is Dr O’Shea. We’re both going up to Mike’s for dinner and there’s no key for her front door. She’s got a computer over there and I wouldn’t like sticky fingers mucking up her programs so keep an eye on the place, would you?’

  He watched the two women shake hands, ignoring his words completely as they exchanged pleasantries. Still, their conversation gave him time to take another look at Caitlin—a long, careful look while he puzzled over why such a prim outfit should increase the wretched woman’s sexiness, not detract from it.

  ‘I said go off and enjoy yourselves,’ Nellie repeated, waving her hand to shoo them out of the kitchen. ‘I’m done here till supper-time so I’ll be sitting out the back, blowing a bit of smoke around. No trouble to keep an eye on the house.’

  He opened his mouth to remonstrate—again—about Nellie’s nicotine addiction, then shut it. Who was he to be giving orders to other people about their lives when his own had been so thoroughly dislocated by this woman’s arrival in town?

  Caitlin had said goodbye and walked away. He followed, more slowly now, feeling the night air fold around him, smelling a faint sweet perfume as if the beautiful visitor trailed some special scent.

  ‘Your carriage is over this way,’ he said, embarrassed by the thought. Now he hurried to catch up. He took her arm and led her towards his hefty Landcruiser. ‘It’s not as flashy as your speed machine, but it’s practical out here.’

  She smiled up at him and he felt a peculiar hollowness in his chest, as if his lungs had gone on holiday, and taken his heart with them.

  ‘My dad drove a Landcruiser,’ she told him. ‘I got my licence in one of these.’

  And without waiting for him to open the door, she did the honours herself and swung up into the passenger seat, totally unaware of him as anything other than a chauffeur for the night—thankfully unaware of his reaction to her.

  ‘How did you get on with Granny?’ he asked, breaking a silence that seemed too loud.

  ‘Fine. She’s great,’ Caitlin responded, but her tone was distracted, and when she turned towards him, the anxiety that now accompanied him everywhere like an unwanted shadow returned. ‘In fact, so was Melissa, and the woman in the bakery, and even Nellie seemed happy to have me here. So far, Dr Clarke, you’re the only one who’s made negative noises about my research in the town. Why’s that?’

  Because I’m the only one with enough sense to see where it could lead?

  No, that not only sounded patronising, it was.

  And he could hardly use a presentiment of danger, an inexplicable fear, as an excuse.

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ he compromised. ‘Remember, I’m also a stranger here. Perhaps I’m reading the situation wrongly—overreacting.’

  Yet even as he spoke the placatory words his gut wrenched with memories of Angie—of the white skeletal bones and remnants of hair and flesh he’d had to touch and handle as he’d sought answers on the autopsy table.

  It was no good telling himself her death was unrelated to what had been happening in the town at the time she’d disappeared when every instinct denied this assertion. Those same instincts—back when Angie had been missing for a couple of months—had prompted him to apply for the post in Turalla and had convinced him he needed to set his own ambition aside, at least until he’d tried to find out more.

  Connor glanced towards his passenger who was looking around with the innocent interest of any visitor, and shook his head.

  After two years in Turalla, quietly seeking clues to Angie’s disappearance, he’d been almost ready to believe her death had been what everyone said it was—an accident. Now one brief faxed message had short-circuited his brain—one beautiful blonde had thrown the switch and, in his mind at least, fused the past and present.

  ‘Is this a new housing estate? The height’s unexpected. Walking uptown the area looks completely flat.’

  It took him a moment to work out what Caitlin had said, to regain the equanimity he needed for normal conversation.

  ‘About five years old. The hills begin here with this slight rise, then run parallel to each other out across the plains for about forty miles. You don’t realise how orderly they are until you’re in the air. From a plane they look like lines drawn on a map. It’s some kind of geological phenomenon.’

  Normal conversation? He sounded like a schoolteacher.

  ‘This is Mike’s place.’

  Had she heard the relief in his voice? Probably, for she was out of the car before he had the engine turned off, and was looking down at the streetlights which marked the straight grids of the town.

  Sue welcomed them both, kissing him warmly and shaking hands with Caitlin, chattering on about how nice it was to have a new face at the hospital, even if it was only on a temporary basis.

  ‘Let them come in,’ Mike protested, ushering them all through the door. He led Caitlin to a comfortable chair, adding apologetically, ‘Sue is always so pleased to have adult conversation, she tends to get over-excited.’

  His wife threw a playful jab at his shoulder. ‘I’ve got the qualifications to do your job. How about I take over for a week and let you handle the ankle-biters?’

  ‘I bet he wouldn’t last a day,’ Connor said, but his eyes were on Caitlin who was smiling at the by-play, a relaxed, natural smile that lit up her eyes and put a glow on her skin.

  Or was that make-up? He really didn’t know. The only certainty was that he wanted to keep on looking at her—which would be hard if he persuaded her to go away.

  ‘He’s lost to us,’ Sue said in a mournful voice, and he spun around to see her smirking at him—in fact, Mike was also smirking.

  ‘I’ll have a light beer,’ he said, hoping that was what they’d asked. The laughter which greeted his reply told him he’d guessed wrong. Even Caitlin was laughing, a low, throaty sound that seemed to ripple in the air before settling in his ears.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Mike responded. ‘Perhaps you’d better come with me. You can open the wine and I’ll ask you again if the new Blair is a girl or boy. I left early this afternoon. Ellie was still in the delivery suite.’

  Connor groaned. Talk about foot in mouth!

  ‘She had a boy,’ he said, following Mike into the kitchen, but Caitlin’s laughter followed him, like an echo he wanted to hear again and again.

  Caitlin was glad he’d gone. She’d met attractive men before but none who’d caused this dizzy feeling, as if her body had been spun out of balance.

  ‘What children do you have?’ she asked Sue, a petite redhead. A red Russell? she wondered as Sue listed her brood.

  ‘Katrina, Peter, Jessica and Mark. The last two are twins, giving me four under five. Don’t ever think having two at once is an easy way of getting your family over and done with. They’re double trouble, nothing more.’

  She went on to list the twins’ latest exploits and iniquities, but Caitlin heard the strong maternal love beneath the gripes in the other woman’s voice. Was she missing something, not having children? Would she still have time for a family, once she’d got where she was going?

  A loud cry off-stage had Sue out of her chair, and out of the room, in seconds.

  Mike and Connor returned, and Caitlin forgot children and the future, intent only on getting through an evening in Connor’s presence without revealing the effect he had on her.

  ‘So? Did you have a successful session with Granny?’ Mike asked, handing her a glass of wine and lifting his beer in a traditional salute.

  ‘Granny Russell? How does she fit into your research?’ Sue returned, demanding answers. ‘Unless it’s on longevity, or geriatrics with extraordinary memories. I thought you were here about the children who had leukaemia?’

  Caitlin smiled at her.

  ‘I am. I’m just looking at it from a different angle—seeking genetic links.’

  Sue took the glass of beer
Connor offered and sipped at it, frowning thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, finding genetic links in this town shouldn’t be too hard. Before the mine was opened, just about everyone was related to each other—which makes it very difficult to gossip about anyone! You could have a field day here.’

  ‘Too many relationships can be as bad as too few,’ Caitlin explained. ‘It’s hard to untie the skeins to see the single threads.’

  ‘Then couldn’t you begin with the children who had leukaemia—with their genetic make-up? I was reading an article on DNA mapping in a medical journal recently,’ Mike said.

  ‘Surely you have DNA information on the children who contracted the disease?’ Connor added, his voice expressing his hope that she might not have to pursue this other course.

  Caitlin nodded, taking time to calm the prick of anger. OK, so she’d known she didn’t have this man’s support, but did he have to be so eager to be rid of her?

  Choosing her words with care, she said, ‘We have the results of blood tests from the children who were affected but no one at the time did DNA tests on the samples. DNA testing is expensive, so it’s not done unless there’s a reason.’

  ‘And you’re looking for a reason—I can follow that,’ Sue said, beaming at Caitlin. ‘What will you need?’

  Caitlin smiled at her enthusiasm, wishing it was easy to explain.

  ‘I won’t really know until I find it but, say, for instance, I discover that all the children had an ancestor in common—’

  ‘How far back?’ Sue demanded, and Mike laughed.

  ‘Let the woman finish a sentence,’ he suggested.

  ‘That’s another thing I don’t know,’ Caitlin told her. ‘We know some recessive or mutated genes can skip generations, but I’ve a time restriction as well, so I’m thinking perhaps great-great.’

  ‘OK, I’ve got that.’ Sue prompted her to continue but one look at Connor’s face suggested he’d had more than enough.