Bushfire Bride

by Marion Lennox

  ‘The town will be safe. The river…’

  ‘The river will hold it this side. But the other side…’

  ‘You know the plan is for everyone to get over here and stay.’ Hugo shifted uneasily, thinking it through. Forcing his mind away from Rachel and onto the urgency of what lay ahead. ‘People’s homes are insured. They’ve had warning to leave. They’ll come.’

  ‘People do damned stupid things. Get yourself to bed, Hugo.’ David’s voice was suddenly rough with concern. ‘You know you’re going to be needed.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Silence. Then… ‘At least you have Dr Harper.’ David’s eyes were still probing. ‘Rachel,’ he amended, and watched Hugo’s face twist. David looked even more thoughtful. Hmm, the expression on his face said. Was that the way the wind blew, then?

  It wasn’t up to Hugo to enlighten him. ‘Yeah, at least I have Rachel,’ he snapped, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets and glared.

  ‘So go to bed and thank your stars you have her while you do,’ David told him.

  ‘Right.’ He was right. Of course he was right. Go to bed and be thankful…

  To bed. To sleep? That was a joke!

  And Rachel?

  She lay awake and thought about Craig.

  But she didn’t ring Dottie.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RACHEL was awake before he was. As Hugo appeared in the kitchen for breakfast just after six, Rachel burst through the screen door, a dog attached to a leash in either hand.

  She stopped short when she saw him. Discomfited. The dogs bounded across the kitchen to greet him and he bent to hug them. Giving himself time to collect himself.

  The dogs were great. Afghan and mongrel were becoming fast friends.

  Michael would have kittens. Aristocracy mixing with the hoi-polloi. Ouch.

  Michael. There he was, thinking about Michael again. Why the hell couldn’t he keep himself from thinking about Michael?

  Rachel was wearing short shorts, and a crop top and sandals. She was all bare legs and glowing face and shiny hair.

  How could he not think of Michael?

  He had to get himself together.

  ‘Hi,’ he tried, and waited.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘You’ve been to the beach.’ That much was obvious. The dogs were damp and sand-coated, and Penelope the Afghan had such a look of bliss on her dopey face he almost felt sorry for her that she had to return to the city. To Michael.

  There he was again.

  Rachel had to return to the city to Michael. The thought was enough to make the beginnings of his smile fade completely.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Rachel told him, and the tension escalated by about a mile. She hadn’t been able to sleep. Neither had he. Because…

  What was he thinking of? Heck, he had better…more serious things to think about than why Rachel hadn’t been able to sleep.

  Like a bushfire.

  ‘It’s bad,’ Rachel told him, moving on before he could. ‘The wind came up before the sun did. The dogs and I could see the flames rising higher on the ridge while we waited for the sunrise.’

  How long had she been on the beach? It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Move on…

  ‘Crisis today,’ he said, and turned his back to put on the kettle. He was wearing his boxer shorts and nothing else. That was what he always wore while he ate breakfast and why his lack of clothes bothered him now he didn’t know.

  ‘What precautions are we taking?’ she asked, waiting for him to finish at the sink so she could pour bowls of water for the dogs. Then she turned her attention to toast, as though she was completely unaware of him.

  How could she be unaware of him? he thought savagely. He was climbing walls here! In her shorts and her tiny crop top that left nothing to the imagination, he was so aware of her that everything else was blotted out completely.

  Like the little matter of a town threatened by bushfire.

  ‘We’re setting a safety zone up on the beach,’ he managed. ‘Maybe you saw…’

  ‘There were people on the beach, setting up equipment, as I was leaving. The safety zone’s changing from the hall?’

  ‘Yeah. This side of the river can act almost as a safety zone by itself-it’s been really well cleared. But if the fire turns firestorm…’

  ‘Firestorm?’

  ‘That’s what frightens us,’ he told her. ‘We can cope with a fire that comes at us fast but a firestorm is something else. If it’s burning so fast it starts sucking oxygen before it, then it creates its own energy. It becomes a vortex, consuming all. We’ll move medical supplies down to the beach and essentials to protect a crowd. If the fire looks like escalating then everyone goes there. We’ll evacuate the hospital-everyone-and we hope like hell.’

  ‘Won’t they send back-up from the mainland?’ Rachel asked in a small voice, and he frowned. She sounded scared. He hadn’t meant to scare her-but maybe he was a bit scared himself.

  ‘I’ve been lying in bed, listening to the radio reports,’ he told her. ‘With this north wind after days of such heat, half the state’s threatened. Every fire service is looking after its own, and the state troops are needed for the cities where most lives are at risk. So we’re on our own.’

  And despite the dangers the town was facing today-despite the uncertainty-he was suddenly distracted.

  We’re on our own.

  The words jabbed deep.

  He was on his own, he thought drearily as he sat on the other side of the table and ate cereal as she ate her toast. She was only feet away from him but she was so distant. So lovely.

  She was married. And he had a fire to think about. Patients. Medicine. The future…

  Right.

  They ate on in silence, each deep in thought. And neither willing to share.

  Toby arrived before they finished eating, hiking into the kitchen in his Bob-the-Builder pyjamas and blessedly breaking a tension that was well nigh unbearable.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, yourself.’ Hugo smiled at his young son, grateful to have someone break a silence that was becoming way too difficult. Impossible. ‘Breakfast?’

  Toby scorned to answer such a dumb question, but his small face lit at the sight of Rachel and he launched himself onto her knees. She hugged him round the middle and he beamed.

  ‘Can I have my toast here, Dad?’

  ‘Why not?’ Toast on Rachel’s knees. If Hugo could…

  No! He needed a cold shower-and he’d just had a cold shower.

  He rose and made toast and handed it to his son without saying a word, while Rachel and Toby chatted like old friends.

  ‘I need to go,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘Myra will be here soon.’

  ‘Do you want me at the hospital or down at the beach?’ Rachel asked, balancing her coffee around Toby’s breakfast.

  ‘Can you do standard clinic?’

  She winced at that. ‘Yeah, right. As if anyone’s going to check in with coughs and colds today.’

  ‘Someone needs to be there.’

  She looked at him for a long moment, weighing what he’d just said. She was trying to decide whether to challenge him-whether to bring to the surface the real issue here, which was that he needed room in his head. She was infringing on that, just by being. She knew it. He needed to work alone.

  ‘You know where to find me if you need me,’ she said at last. ‘Don’t hesitate.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Is the fire going to burn the town down?’ Toby was sitting more firmly on Rachel’s lap now, regarding his father with huge eyes. He’d claimed Rachel as his own, but he still needed his daddy.

  ‘The fire won’t burn the town,’ Hugo said, and Rachel put her arms around Toby and hugged him again.

  ‘I think today you should stay home with Myra or with me,’ she told him. ‘And I’m guessing Myra might want to stay on her own farm. Maybe we could pack a suitcase with all the most important
things you and Daddy have. Hugo, give me a list and, Toby, you can make a list, too. Then if it gets really smoky we can take the suitcase down to the beach and we won’t have to worry about the smoke making everything smell.’

  ‘Will we take the dogs, too?’

  ‘Of course we’ll take the dogs.’ She looked down at the two dogs who were slumped in soggy and sandy happiness over her feet. ‘How could we let them get smoky?’ She smiled up at Hugo. ‘Off you go, then, Dr McInnes. Make a list and leave it for us, then you go and save the world and Toby and I will save Penelope and Digger and Toby’s teddy-bear and your photo albums and whatever else we can find that’s worth saving.’

  ‘Right.’

  Whatever was worth saving? Hugo made a list, which was really-stupidly-short, then made his way to the hospital. And all he could think of was…

  Save me.

  Christine arrived at eight-thirty to collect Toby for school and was annoyed to find he wasn’t coming. ‘He’s staying with me for the morning,’ Rachel told her, and Christine gave her a look that was meant to turn her to stone and huffed to the hospital to find Hugo.

  ‘I went to collect the kid-’

  ‘Toby,’ Hugo said mildly. He was packing equipment into the back of his car. He needed a full operating suite. On this day he couldn’t depend on any one place to stay safe, but he could always run his car into the shallows and operate from there. If he had to. ‘The kid’s name is Toby.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Christine snapped. ‘I know what his name is. Hugo, what’s going on?’

  ‘Rachel’s offered to take care of Toby. Myra wants to stay home today-understandably. Her farm’s under threat as well as the rest of the town. Toby’s nervous about going to school and Rachel’s offered to care for him.’

  ‘He’ll be safe at school.’

  Christine wasn’t offering to care for Toby herself, Hugo noticed. He only had half his mind on what she was saying. The rest of his thoughts were on the contents of the cooler he was packing into his car. Did it contain every drug he could need? Had he forgotten anything important?

  ‘So why isn’t he going to school?’ Christine’s anger was palpable and he made himself concentrate.

  ‘The school’s happy for every child with parents available to care for them to stay home.’

  ‘Rachel’s not a parent.’

  Hugo paused. He straightened and looked at Christine, really seeing her. She was brittle this morning. Tight.

  ‘No. She’s not.’ He met her gaze full on.

  ‘There’s something between you and Rachel,’ Christine snapped, and Hugo shook his head.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you want there to be something.’

  ‘She’s married.’

  ‘You still want there to be.’

  There was only one answer to that. ‘Yes,’ he said gently. He paused but the thing had to be said. ‘Christine, what’s between us… It’s happened so gradually that I’ve hardly noticed but it’s there…the expectation that we’d start a relationship.’

  ‘We have started a relationship.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Christine, what’s between us is no more a basis for a relationship than what was between Beth and I. I’ve made a mistake. Rachel… Well, it’s true she’s married and there’s no future for us but it’s made me see that you and I can never work.’

  ‘Because you’ll find someone like Rachel.’

  ‘No.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I can’t find anyone like Rachel. But even knowing there’s someone like her in the world…it makes a difference.’

  ‘So I’ve been hanging around in this one-horse dump for nothing.’

  ‘I thought you were here for your art.’

  There was a long silence. Then… ‘The fire will make great pictures,’ she admitted. ‘And the publicity…it’ll give me a market.’

  ‘There you go, then.’ He hesitated but it might as well be said. ‘Be honest, Chris. That’s all that’s ever mattered to you-and to Beth. The art. Things. Not people.’

  Silence. She half turned, ready to leave angry, but he held her with his eyes. And continued to hold.

  Finally she smiled, a crooked little smile that was half mocking, half furious. ‘Damn you, you know us too well. Me and Beth…’

  ‘You love your art. People are second.’

  ‘We could have worked out a great relationship.’

  ‘Yeah. I practise medicine while I pay for your paints.’

  She shrugged but the crooked smile stayed. ‘It was worth a try.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. It wasn’t. Christine, it’s time I did things a bit differently. I think it’s even time I moved on from brocade. Meanwhile, I have a fire-ravaged community to care for.’

  She looked at him for a long moment and then shrugged again. A shrug of release. ‘Fine. I have things to paint. But you know she’ll never have you. She’s married to some wealthy medical specialist in town. Why could she possibly be interested in you?’

  Why indeed?

  No reason at all.

  Christine turned on her heel and walked away and Hugo stared after her and thought, I’ve just tossed in a future because of a slip of a doctor who has nothing to do with me. Nothing.

  And everything.

  The fire threatened for most of the morning, but that was all it did. Threaten. Reports coming into the town were that the line created by backburning was holding. The temperature soared but the wind seemed to rise to a certain velocity and stay. Holding.

  Rachel worked through the myriad minor ailments presenting at the clinic. There were so many she had to concede that Hugo had been right in asking her to take over. Asthmatics were having appalling trouble with the smoke, and people who’d never had asthma in their lives had it now. The town’s older residents, their capacity to retain body equilibrium with sweating compromised with age, were in real trouble. Rachel admitted two elderly men to hospital, and Don rang through wanting advice for another in the nursing home.

  ‘The ash in the air is messing with our air-conditioning,’ he told her. ‘The oldies are suffering enough already and we need to have them fit to evacuate.’

  ‘You’re planning on evacuating?’

  ‘Hugo’s down on the beach, setting up a full medical centre in case,’ Don told her. ‘The real problems will be when this wind changes. It’ll strengthen before any change and that’s what Hugo’s most worried about. It’s what we’re all worried about.’

  So she should be worried, too. Rachel gave him the advice he needed, replaced the phone and looked out the window. There was nothing to see. The smoke had thickened to the stage where visibility was down to about ten yards.

  Toby was settled out in the waiting room, playing with a train set. He seemed perfectly content to be there, watched over by Ruby, Hugo’s receptionist, but within calling distance of Rachel. Unless she was actually examining patients, she left the door open so she could make eye contact. Every now and then he’d look up and make sure she could see him, and then he’d glance over to where the giant suitcase was sitting in a corner.

  He had Rachel. He had his precious belongings. Penelope and Digger were out on the veranda, in sight. So… Hugo was out in the wide world but this link made it OK.

  For now.

  ‘Rachel!’ It was a call over the intercom. Rachel had just seen her last patient but the call made her sink back into her seat. Elly, the hospital charge nurse, sounded worried. ‘Rachel, are you there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you come through to the hospital? Fast? There’s a baby fitting. Katy Brady, the baby’s mother, is bringing her in now but she sounds as if she’s unconscious already.’

  A fast word of explanation-thankfully, Toby was a doctor’s child and knew what the word emergency meant-and Rachel ran, leaving the dogs and Toby with Ruby. She reached the hospital entrance as a rust bucket of an ancient Ford screeched to a halt in the entrance.

  ‘It’s Connor Brady and his mother, Kat
y,’ Elly told her as they hauled open the car door, but there was no time for more. The young mother almost fell out of the driver’s seat.

  The baby was slumped over his mother’s knee. Katy was obviously a teenage mum-young to the point where she was scarcely out of childhood herself. She was wearing frayed jeans and a tiny crop top with tattoos peeking out from underneath. Her hair hung in dreadlocks down to her waist.

  But it wasn’t Katy that Rachel was looking at.

  Connor Brady seemed about six weeks old and he was in dire trouble. The baby had been lying across his mother’s knees and one look told Rachel what the trouble was-and what was the cause of what was happening. She put her hand on the child’s forehead and winced at what she felt. Fever. The baby’s temperature must be over forty.

  And he was wrapped-tightly wrapped-in blankets!

  ‘My baby…’ Katy was sobbing, almost incoherent in fear, but Rachel already had him, hauling away the blankets as she lifted the little one from the car. The baby was limp, his eyes rolling back in his head as if he’d been convulsing for far too long.

  ‘I need Dr Hugo,’ the girl wailed, but Rachel wasn’t listening. She was doing a fast assessment, looking for tell-tale signs of a meningococcal rash, checking for neck stiffness, searching…

  Thankfully there was nothing.

  ‘Get me scissors,’ she told Elly. Damn, there were buttons and ribbons everywhere and she wanted these clothes off fast. There were no signs of a rash that she could see, and the little one’s neck was moving freely. The likely cause of this was a simple fever combined with heat. ‘Elly, run me a sink full of cool water.’

  As the girl stumbled out of the car and reached for the baby. Rachel met her fear head on. ‘I’m a doctor,’ she told her. ‘Katy, I’m pretty sure that your baby’s convulsing because he’s hot. We need to get him cool straight away.’

  ‘Give him to me.’ The girl was reaching out for her baby in instinctive protest at losing contact, but Rachel was already moving toward the hospital entrance, carrying the baby with her.

  ‘Come with me,’ she told Katy. ‘Talk to me as I work. How long’s he been like this?’