Hijacked Honeymoon

by Marion Lennox

  What would his life have been if he’d stayed at Sapphire Cove? Ryan found himself wondering. In the background he heard his newly delivered baby start to cry. A nurse moved swiftly down the corridor. There were coos and chuckles and a low conversation between die young father and the nurse.

  They all knew each other here.

  This hospital was about as different from the hospital where Ryan worked as he could possibly get.

  He’d go crazy working for a week here, he told himself. No research. No colleagues, bouncing ideas off each other. No social life outside the hospital. No concerts, art galleries or restaurants. How could Abbey stand it?

  He looked down at the sleeping girl on the couch and a shaft of pain shot through him-a pain so fierce he almost staggered. A pain of sheer, absolute want. He wanted to gather her to him. Protect her from the pain he saw on her face. Take a load off her shoulders that seemed too heavy for any woman to bear.

  It wasn’t on. This was crazy thinking. Ryan wasn’t about to walk away from a fantastic career and lifestyle just because he was being sentimental about an old friend.

  There was a soft step behind him. Ryan turned to see Ted lurking in the doorway. Ghoul-like.

  ‘She looks at death’s door,’ Ted said with a certain amount of relish. ‘You’re not going to take her home now, are you, Doc?’

  ‘She’ll fight me if I don’t.’

  ‘Seems to me there’s not a lot of fight left in her,’ Ted said morosely. ‘Now, if I was a young fella I’d just gather her up and take her to bed.’ Then he coloured. ‘I mean… put her to bed, like…’

  Ryan smiled.

  He turned to look down at Abbey and his smile faded. A sudden image of what that might be like pierced his senses. To take Abbey to bed…

  No way. That was the last thing he needed. The last thing Abbey needed. He was an engaged man. Abbey had responsibilities.

  Bed, pure and simple-bed in the old-fashioned sense-was what this lady needed. With a wrench, Ryan forced his mind to practicalities.

  ‘Will Janet cope if Abbey doesn’t come home?’ he asked dubiously.

  ‘I’ve already rung Janet,’ Ted told him. ‘When I found our Doc Wittner asleep, like. She won’t worry. Janet’s a good ‘un.’

  ‘But the baby… And I’ve told her I’ll do the milking but she’ll panic…’

  ‘Janet says young Jack’s asleep. Janet can cope with the little ‘un’s breakfast, and the milking don’t need to get done again till morning,’ Ted told him. ‘And I’ve got ideas about that. So let’s worry about the morning in the morning. Sister’s got a bed made up in Room Four for Doc Wittner and one in Room Seven for you. So go tuck her in and then hit the sack yourself.’ He eyed Ryan shrewdly. ‘Looks to me you need a bit of shut-eye almost as much as Doc Wittner.’

  He did, Ryan acknowledged.

  The pressures of the day were crowding in, threatening to overwhelm him. With the time change in international travel, he’d missed two nights’ sleep. He’d hit Abbey’s bicycle and hurt Abbey. He’d coped with his father’s heart attack. He’d delivered a baby.

  It was time to call it quits and do as he was told. But first…

  He nodded acknowledgement to Ted, and stooped to lift Abbey into his arms. She was feather-light-far too slim for a woman of her age. He half expected her to wake when he lifted her, but the after-effects of the morphine and shock from the accident were taking their toll. There was no argument from Abbey. She sighed in her sleep and nestled easily into his arms, her breasts moulding themselves against his chest as if she were meant to lie there. As if she were part of him…

  Ryan strode down the corridor with his sleeping burden, knowing that things were changing inside him that he had no idea how to set right again.

  Worry about it in the morning, he told himself firmly. These feelings… the feel of Abbey against him… the trace of perfume in her hair… the way her breasts curved in against him as she lay in his arms in total trust… What he was feeling was just a result of a crazy two days.

  He had to sleep. In the morning he could go back to being Ryan Henry, hugely successful orthopaedic surgeon and future husband to Felicity, all over again.

  In the morning…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ABBEY woke to breakfast.

  There was a smell of bacon, wafting around her, and her nose twitched in appreciation before she opened her eyes. When she did lift a cautious eyelid the first thing she saw was a breakfast tray.

  The second was Ryan Henry.

  ‘Well, well.’ Ryan was lifting the lid from her eggs and bacon and nodding his approval of what lay underneath. ‘You’ve decided to join the land of the living. Excellent. I’d have let you sleep longer but I wanted to bully you into breakfast before clinic. I’ve heard you should always eat a big breakfast on the first day of your honeymoon. It’s medically recommended.’

  ‘I… You…’ Abbey winced and stirred-and then stared. This was crazy. Last night she’d settled down on a couch in the waiting room. Now… She cast a wary glance at Ryan and then cautiously lifted her bedclothes.

  And yelped.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Ryan enquired blandly.

  ‘My clothes…’ Abbey hauled her bedcovers up to her nose and glared. ‘What happened to my clothes?’

  ‘You sound as if you’re naked,’ Ryan complained. ‘Which, considering the amount of trouble Sister and I had getting you into a hospital gown, is a tad unappreciative. I know for a honeymoon you really should have something sheer and sexy-preferably black-but I’m afraid hospital green was all we could come up with.’

  Abbey was no longer listening. She couldn’t care less what she was wearing. It was the identity of the person who’d dressed her-or rather who’d undressed her-that was important here.

  ‘Sister dressed me?’ she asked cautiously, sitting up with her bedclothes still up to her neck.

  ‘I helped, but only as far as was decent.’ Ryan smiled. ‘You don’t remember? Your clothes were disgusting. I was afraid they’d infect your scratches if we left you in them any longer.’

  ‘My T-shirt…’

  ‘I didn’t like it,’ Ryan said, as if that clinched the matter. ‘And your shorts were torn already.’

  ‘What have you done with my T-shirt and shorts?’ Abbey demanded in a voice that was loaded with portent For answer, Ryan pointed to a pair of scissors on the bedside table.

  ‘All gone.’ It was an imitation of Ted’s voice that he used when discussing a death. Pull of ghoul-like relish. ‘We disturbed you less by cutting them off. Ted took ‘em away to use as dusters down in the morgue. We figured that’s the best place for them. Now, if I were you, I’d eat some breakfast before it gets cold. Considering the amount of trouble Cook’s gone to on your behalf, letting this lot get cold would be a real shame.’

  ‘Ryan, I want my clothes.’

  ‘They’re in a million pieces.’ Ryan handed her a slice of toast. ‘Bite.’

  Abbey bit. And glared.

  ‘Problem?’ Ryan enquired politely. He stood back with his arms folded and watched her-doctor watching interesting specimen. Ryan was dressed in fresh trousers and an open-necked, short-sleeved shirt. His wavy brown hair was neatly brushed. He looked like he’d had about twelve hours sleep instead of a scant six and he was showered and freshly shaved. Ryan Henry was a doctor in charge of his world again.

  Which Abbey definitely wasn’t.

  However, she was hungry. She bit into her toast once more, trying to get her thoughts in order. There’d been Janet’s casserole last night, but she’d eaten hardly any before they’d been called to help Sam. And the smell was fabulous.

  ‘What are you going to do about my clothes?’ It was tricky to talk with a mouthful of toast when one was concentrating on glaring at the same time, but Abbey managed it, no sweat.

  ‘Nothing,’ Ryan told her. ‘They were appalling. They certainly don’t deserve burial honours, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
/>   Abbey didn’t smile. She concentrated fiercely on her breakfast, not looking at Ryan. For some reason, the sight of Ryan Henry standing beside her bed, surveying her with an air of proprietary interest, unnerved her completely. Abbey lifted a piece of bacon and inspected it from all angles. And decided not to take offence at the bacon. In it went. ‘They were the only clothes I have,’ she said between mouthfuls.

  ‘Surely not!’ Ryan’s eyebrows rose in polite disbelief. ‘Abbey, I know you’re poor, but I find it hard to believe you spend your entire life as a doctor, a farmer and a mother dressed in the one T-shirt.’

  ‘OK, smarty-boots!’ Abbey glowered. ‘I meant they were the only clothes I have here. Ryan, you were supposed to take me home.’

  ‘You passed out before I could. I never send unconscious patients home. It’s against medical ethics. And you’ve been unconscious for over twelve hours.’

  ‘I was asleep. You knew very well I was just asleep.’ Abbey lifted a fork and attacked her egg-and then paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Did you say twelve hours?’ She swivelled to look at the bedside clock. And gasped. ‘Nine… Oh, glory, it’s nine o‘clock. Ryan, how could you?’ Her fork clattered onto her plate, forgotten, and her legs swung sideways.

  To be blocked by Ryan.

  ‘So, where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Home,’ Abbey said in a distressed voice. ‘Ryan, it’s nine o’clock. The cows will be frantic and Janet will try to milk them herself and there’s no one to look after Jack while she does, even if she could manage the milking, and-’

  ‘Ted’s organised your cows.’

  ‘Ted…’

  ‘I intended to milk them but Ted tells me there’s any number of local farmers willing to roster themselves to milk your herd,’ Ryan said. His hands moved to her shoulders and he held her still, brooking no argument. ‘Ted says the locals think the world of you. If you need help, all you have to do is ask. This morning Ted asked on your behalf. He was inundated with offers.’

  ‘No!’ Abbey’s face creased in distress. ‘I won’t ask for help. Everyone did so much. When John died… When he was in the coma… I was pregnant and they helped so much. Everyone helped. I don’t need help any more. We can stand on our own feet.’

  ‘You mean you don’t need their help ever again?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘No. I don’t. I won’t.’

  ‘Yet Ted tells me there’s not a person living within a thirty-mile radius of Sapphire Cove who doesn’t use your help,’ Ryan said thoughtfully. ‘You do house calls at all hours. You’ve bullied the government into subsidies so this hospital could be built. You’ve given the community medical treatment that’s never been available before. Ted says you give and give and give-and everyone wants desperately to give something back. What’s the old adage here, Abbey? It’s better to give than receive? Well, sometimes it’s only fair to let the giving be both ways.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Abbey shook her head and pushed her tousled curls back from her face. ‘Janet will-’

  ‘I’ve talked to Janet,’ Ryan told her. ‘I was out there an hour ago, checking everything was going OK. I’ve told her I’m keeping you in hospital today to give that leg a chance to settle. If you’re good then you can go home tomorrow. I’ve organised Marcia over the road to come and give Janet a hand with Jack-if necessary she’ll do that for the next week so you can rest-and the local farmers are arranging a roster system with the milking until your leg’s OK. Until I say your leg’s OK. And Janet… ’

  ‘Janet will hate it.’

  ‘She was upset,’ Ryan admitted, ‘but I told her your health was at stake. I gave her the same lecture about giving and receiving as I gave you and she’s content.’

  ‘She’d never agree…’

  ‘She has.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  But Ryan wasn’t listening. He’d picked up the bedside phone and was dialling. ‘Let her tell you herself. Don’t believe me, oh ye of little faith. Talk to Janet.’

  And thirty seconds later Abbey replaced the receiver and stared up at Ryan, totally bewildered.

  ‘I don’t know how you did that.’

  ‘Pure charm.’ Ryan smiled his most enigmatic smile and pointed to Abbey’s breakfast. ‘Now eat.’ He hauled a chair up and sat himself down-a man at ease with his world. ‘There are things I need help with now, Abbey. Just keep eating while I fire questions.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘I’m not asking anything while you’re not eating.’

  ‘OK. OK. I’m eating.’ Abbey shoved a mouthful of egg home and frowned. ‘I don’t understand any of this. You can’t just organise my life.’

  ‘It’s not your life now,’ Ryan pointed out. ‘We made a bargain. I drove too fast, I hurt your leg and I’m paying. You’re on my honeymoon. I’m on your duties. You…’

  But Abbey was no longer listening. Another anxiety had just crowded in. ‘Ryan, how’s Sam? How’s your father?’ It was a fast change of tack but it was the way Abbey’s mind was working. Leapfrogging from one worry to another.

  ‘Dad’s OK.’ Ryan’s air of a man in charge slipped a little. ‘I have the feeling what happened last night was crescendo angina, rather than a full-blown heart attack, as he’s settled fast, but the damage that’s already been done… Well, I wish I could say he’s fine but he’s holding his own.’

  ‘He needs by-pass surgery, and he needs it now.’

  ‘He won’t go. I pushed it this morning-’

  ‘How long have you been up?’ Abbey demanded, off on another track, and Ryan shrugged.

  ‘Since five. I gave our jellyfish victim more morphine at five. The pain takes a long time to wear off from those damned things. After that it was hardly worth going back to bed. My father was awake so we talked.’

  ‘About by-passes?’

  ‘That and other things. He won’t do it.’

  Abbey nodded. ‘I told you, Ryan. He wants to die.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘It’s not crazy. Think about it. All he has is a son who hasn’t been near him for seventeen years.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake… ’

  Abbey shook her head as she saw the rigid look on Ryan’s face. ‘OK. I know. This is none of my business. Apart from your father, tell me what else you need help with.’

  Ryan’s set look eased a little. ‘Did I say needed help?’

  ‘Yes, you did and it floored me,’ Abbey said bluntly. ‘The great Ryan Henry, needing help!’

  Ryan’s anger gave way to bewilderment at the sudden laughter in Abbey’s eyes. If there was one thing he was unaccustomed to, it was being teased. He shook his head. ‘Abbey, for some reason… Am I wrong, or am I getting the impression that you think I’m an autocratic, selfopinionated-’

  ‘Yep. All of the above.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘No? I suppose you’re a really thoughtful, considerate human being.’

  ‘I might be.’

  ‘Well, if you’re so thoughtful, you didn’t by any chance…’ Abbey cast him a hopeful look ‘… bring me some clothes when you went out to see Janet?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘There you are, then. Autocratic, unfeeling, inconsiderate…’

  Ryan sighed. He and Abbey seemed destined to spend the morning sparring. ‘OK, Abbey. Enough. Just fill me in on a few histories here. I need a verbal changeover. Your patient notes are nigh on unintelligible.’

  ‘I guess that’s because I’m the only one who ever reads them,’ Abbey admitted contritely. ‘I’m not used to handing over. Tell you what. Find me some clothes and I’ll do a ward round with you and hand over personally.’

  ‘You’re not getting dressed. And you’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Ryan…’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What if I stay in a wheelchair?’ Abbey said meekly. ‘And promise to act subservient all the time.’

  ‘Abbey…’

  ‘Please?’ She sm
iled, and her smile lit up her eyes. It really was the loveliest smile.

  Ryan caved in. He always had.

  He stared down at her, baulked and baffled, and then he sighed. ‘OK, Abbey. Ten minutes. I’ll bring a wheelchair and a dressing-gown back here in ten minutes but if you haven’t eaten every scrap of your breakfast you’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  Sapphire Cove Bush Nursing Hospital boasted fifteen beds, twelve of which were full. Four of those were nursing home patients, which left eight acute cases to discuss. All eight patients were agog to see their accustomed doctor being pushed around in a wheelchair, her bandaged leg stuck straight out before her on a support board-and being propelled by a man many of them vaguely recognised from almost twenty years ago.

  ‘Ryan Henry…’ Old Mr Thomlinson gave a wheezy chuckle and held out his hand in greeting. ‘Well, well. Back in your old partnership, I see.’

  ‘Partnership?’

  ‘You and Abbey.’ Bert Thomlinson looked from Ryan down to Abbey and grinned at the memory. ‘Caught the pair of you swimming out to the reef and pinching crayfish from my traps when you were about twelve and eight years old apiece. Like two little fish, you were, diving down and hauling crays out of the trap. You were letting the little ones go, you told me, and gave me a lecture on catching babies.’ He chortled. ‘At the time I felt like tanning the hides of the pair of you, but you know what? I’ve never kept an undersized lobster since.’ He broke into a fit of coughing and Abbey clucked reproof.

  ‘That’s what you get for telling tales out of school, Bert Thomlinson.’ She looked up at Ryan. ‘Bert’s recovering from two nasty patches of pneumonia affecting both lungs. Caught, no doubt, from going fishing late at night and not getting out of wet clothes. And I don’t believe you’ve reformed, Bert. I’ll bet you were still catching undersized crays.’

  ‘I never would,’ Bert said, wounded. ‘The look of you back then, Abbey… No higher than my waist, standing there with your fingers all bloody from getting nipped and making me sound like a child murderer for catching baby crays. And young Ryan standing in front of you, ready to defend you to the death…’ He fell back on his pillows and smiled. ‘Well, it does me good to see the pair of you back together again, even if it took a busted leg to do it.’