I must be frowning really ferociously because his finger now moves to smooth away my frown lines. I’m going to need so much botox I should consider changing specialties.
‘What are you talking about?’ I demand. ‘Why should we both go to Argentina?’
He smiles and kisses me again.
‘Because you don’t want to be separated from me. You said so yourself. And when I thought about it, I realised I didn’t want to be separated from you either, so I took things from there. Alex will go home in a week or so, fix up his business matters, then come back and stay for six weeks out here on the property. That way he’ll have something to do—he’s really keen to see how we do things here and he’ll probably go back up to Rosebud as well—and you’ll be able to spend time with him. Then, when you finish your six months, I’ll get a couple of months’ leave and we’ll both go to Argentina.’
If you think this is easing the frown lines, you’re wrong. I’m frowning even more now, trying to make sense of all this. I replay the conversation in my head and pick on the most confusing bit of it.
‘You don’t want to be separated from me?’ I repeat, turning so I can see the smallest glimmer of reaction. ‘Why?’
He smiles and his eyes twinkle, and my heart dances in my chest, causing such a commotion I forget to breathe.
‘Because I love you, Hillary Green. I thought you’d know that.’
‘How?’ I demand. ‘By mental telepathy? You might be able to read my thoughts, but I’ve never been able to get inside your head.’
I would probably continue this aggrieved conversation, but he kisses me. Once he has me too breathless to speak, he draws away, stroking his knuckles down my cheek, watching my face—even blushing slightly—as he speaks.
‘I haven’t said it? Told you how much I’ve come to care for you? How much I long to see you every morning, to hear your voice and see your eyes flash when I aggravate you? I love you, Hillary, so deeply it terrifies me at times, while at others I feel I want to leap about and shout your name.’
GR leaping and shouting? I’m momentarily distracted, then he breathes my name a second time, a tender, whispered, love-impassioned, ‘Hillary!
‘See, I can use your name. No more distancing myself from you, though I think I’ll always call you Blue, because that’s how I think of you in my heart.’
The words are husky with emotion and brush shivers down my spine. He draws me close, kisses me again, murmurs more of love and loving, then shows me how he feels.
‘It’s funny,’ he says later, now the stars are out above us—diamond bright in a velvet sky. ‘I’d believed in love for a long time, but always thought it would come like friendship does, slowly building like the first flicker of a campfire until it became a source of all-over warmth.’
He gathers me in his arms again, kisses me, then adds, ‘I didn’t expect a comet—zooming into my life, sending heat and vibrations through the air. It wasn’t the gentle flicker of a match set to a campfire but a conflagration, Blue, and every human instinct warned me to stand back. But I couldn’t resist the comet’s lure. I love you!’
We do go back to the homestead at some time that night, but not to sleep in separate beds. It’s time everyone knew about our love. But love doesn’t stop you worrying, I discover. In fact, I have more to worry about now. Curled up beside the warm body of the man I’m going to marry, I start to worry about our children if I keep working for him as his partner. I wouldn’t want both of us in the same small plane, you see, in case it crashed and the children became orphans.
Of course, if I give up work altogether, GR’s won the argument about women doing O and G then dropping out, so that’s impossible.
‘Bilbarra and the surrounding district is large enough to expand the private practice,’ a deep voice says.
I peer through the darkness as Gregor moves and props himself against the pillows, pulling me close so my head is on his chest.
‘What are you talking about?’ I demand, certain he can’t read my mind when he’s asleep.
‘Your future as a specialist,’ he says, and though it’s dark I know he’s smiling. ‘I know you’re worrying about it, and you’re too good at what you do to stop practising, so when we have a family you can take over the private practice here in Bilbarra—do a couple of days a week—and I’ll stay on as the FOG.’
OK, so he can read my mind while he’s asleep.
But can he read my next thought?
‘With one proviso,’ I tell him, and wait.
He kisses me, a long, smoochy kiss.
‘As long as the department only sends male registrars?’ he guesses, and we both laugh.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5772-9
DOCTORS IN FLIGHT
First North American Publication 2004
Copyright © 2004 by Meredith Webber
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Doctors in Flight Page 17