The Doctor's Outback Baby

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘No one’s going to get hurt,’ Timothy whispered, ‘because we know the rules from the start. I’m going to be gone in three months, you’re going to stay here. And that’s OK. We’ve both got different goals, different lives to lead. But we can still make this the best three months of our lives, still make each day count.’

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ Clara argued. ‘Look at Abby and Kell, look how hard it’s been for them.’

  ‘OK, then.’ Timothy shrugged. ‘We can work alongside each other in a state of pent-up frustration, say goodbye at the clinic each evening and carry on being lonely.’

  She stared back at him, the warmth the strength he radiated seeping into her, filling her with a fresh surge of confidence and a rare glimpse at a future that might just be OK.

  ‘Just because it isn’t for ever, it doesn’t mean it can’t be wonderful.’

  He made it sound so straightforward, made the world seem surprisingly simple all of a sudden. Live for today, to hell with the consequences, just lean on each other for however much time they had. As she pushed her front door open and he followed her inside, Clara was assailed by a sudden sense of freedom, an empowering surge of adrenaline as for the first time in her adult life she acted on impulse and let her heart lead the way and finally lived for the moment.

  ‘No regrets in the morning,’ Timothy checked as Clara shook her head.

  ‘No regrets.’

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he enthused, barely closing the door as he ravaged her again. He made her feel beautiful, made her feel every bit as sexy as one of the stunning models in a magazine, as divine as one of the blonde seductive soap stars that graced her television every evening. The way he kissed her, held her, adored her, rippled through her dented pride, soothing away the hurt, the pain she had learnt to live with for so long now. Only when they made it to the bedroom did she start to panic.

  Somehow she had expected some restraint, for the infamous English reserve to rear its head, but despite his impeccable manners at work, despite his usual politeness to all and sundry, in the bedroom it would seem Timothy didn’t possess even an ounce of modesty. Instead, he was undressing with lightning speed, almost falling over as he pulled off his boots such was his haste to get back to her.

  More worrying than that, though, was the fact that naked he was gorgeous.

  Seriously gorgeous.

  Which would have been a bonus, of course, if she didn’t feel like a beached whale in comparison!

  Some men really are better undressed and, as divine as he looked with clothes on, seeing him in all his naked glory had Clara’s confidence plummeting like a lift with the cable snapped. His body was perfectly toned, the honey brown hair only applied to his head. His legs, arms and chest were gently brushed with golden blonde, courtesy of the hot Australian sun. And the only bit the sun hadn’t seen wasn’t being particularly shy either, begging her to come closer, transfixing her to the spot as she eyed his delicious length. And Clara wished like she had never wished before that she were a tenth as beautiful as Timothy. Wished the sun didn’t ravish her body with a million freckles, wished she’d stuck to every diet and done a million sit-ups each morning. Slowly, cringing with embarrassment, she pulled off her T-shirt, wishing her sports bra wasn’t quite so sensible, wishing her breasts weren’t quite so big and the soft mound of hair as he pulled at her panties wasn’t quite so, well, ginger! But she could hardly ask the hairdresser for foils down there and, given the fact it was still only seven p.m. and the lights weren’t even on to switch off, all she could do was pray they’d somehow make it to bed somehow conjoined…

  But Timothy was having none of it.

  ‘I want to see you,’ he murmured, moving back, peeling her reluctant hand away as she tried fruitlessly to cover herself. ‘Oh, Clara…’

  His moan was so thick with desire, his eyes so blazing with lust that for a second she almost believed him, for a moment, as he ran his approving eyes over her body, she actually believed she was beautiful. But nerves caught up as his scrutiny became more intense, as his hands touched one gloriously ripe breast and he lowered his head to kiss it.

  ‘I’m too fat,’ she mumbled, her hands moving to cover herself, wishing it was night-time, wishing the shutters on her window could shut out just a bit more of the bright evening light.

  ‘Never hide yourself.’ Timothy shook his head, peeling her hands away again and slowly, slowly bending to kiss one aching pink nipple as his hand slipped between her legs, parting the golden amber until Clara moaned in pleasure, the heat of his touch, the utter admiration in his eyes finally hitting the mark until under his skilful touch she felt truly beautiful.

  Slowly he laid her on the bed, kissing every last freckle, chasing away every last doubt until all she needed, wanted, craved even, was for him to fill her, so close to surrender as with one thrust he entered her, her legs coiling around his back like a reflex action, her ankles entwining as she pulled him closer, moved with him, gasped with him, gave in to him, gave in to her body, answered his urgent demands with needs of her own as they exploded together, her buttocks rising off the bed as he moved her higher, longer, deeper than Clara had ever thought possible, the blessed release of her orgasm a cleansing renewal, an unexpected but delicious liberation from the ties that had bound her for so long.

  Lying in his arms, naked and spent, not even caring that the sheet lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, Clara was scarcely able to believe that her heart, which had felt so wounded, so broken, so bleeding, actually felt whole again.

  Turning to face him, she frowned at the troubled expression on his face. ‘W-what’s wrong?’ she stammered, sitting up abruptly and grabbing for the sheet, feeling twitchy and exposed all of a sudden, so sure that the bubble as usual was about to burst. ‘I thought you said no regrets.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her back beside him, her frown fading into a gurgle of laughter as Timothy carried on talking.

  ‘I’m just worried what Hamo’s going to have to say when he finds out about us.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WHAT did she have?’ Squinting at the alarm clock, Clara struggled to come to as Timothy made his way none too quietly into the bedroom, pulling off his shorts and boots in that order and wondering why he nearly toppled over.

  ‘Both.’ He grinned into the darkness as, kneeling up on the bed, Clara rubbed his tired shoulders. ‘My first set of twins. Ross stayed but I did it all myself. A little boy first, he took for ever to come but the second one was over in fifteen minutes. She was breech, but there wasn’t a problem.’

  ‘I bet Rick was over the moon,’ Clara commented. ‘Even though he said he didn’t care, I know he wanted a boy.’

  ‘Well, he struck the jackpot with both. I’m surprised they didn’t find out.’

  The dizzy excitement had gone from his voice now, replaced instead with deep low tones as he relaxed under Clara’s gentle touch.

  ‘I guess when you’ve tried so hard to have a baby the sex doesn’t really matter,’ Clara said softly. ‘They’ve been on IVF for years, which is no mean feat out here.’

  ‘How come you weren’t there?’ Timothy asked. ‘For the delivery, I mean. You’ve been so involved—I thought you’d want to see it through.’

  ‘You’ve built a good rapport with Rick and Emma and they had Ross there as well. I know how exciting delivering twins is, I figured you deserved a go.’

  ‘And a breech to boot!’

  ‘A night for firsts.’ Clara smiled, carrying on the massage and enjoying it every bit as much as Timothy clearly was. The feel of his skin beneath her fingers, the tense balls of muscle softening as she worked them gently, moving in ever-decreasing circles along his shoulders as he rolled his neck and breathed out slowly.

  ‘Lord, it felt good, Clara. So good, in fact, I might even give up on surgery and change to obstetrics.’

  ‘You say that after every delivery.’ Clara laughed. ‘But I know what you mean. There�
��s nothing quite like it, is there? Watching that tiny little bundle come into the world, it still gets me even after all these years.’

  ‘It was amazing. Hey.’ Reaching over, Timothy picked up a bottle. ‘Look what Rick gave me—a bottle of champagne and a cigar. How about it?’

  ‘Yes to the champagne.’ Clara smiled, enjoying his euphoria. ‘But if you light up in here, you’re sleeping alone.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He popped the cork in a second, didn’t even bother to get glasses, and never had the world seemed so great, lying in bed sipping icy champagne out of the bottle with a man as divine as Timothy. ‘Do you know what I fancy?’ Timothy asked, handing her the bottle. ‘The biggest slab of pizza.’

  ‘We’re not in London,’ Clara pointed out, levering herself out of the bed. ‘The nearest I can come up with is some cheese on toast and if you’re lucky a slice or two of tomato.’

  ‘I’d rather have you.’ His hand reached over and pulled her back. ‘Would you find out?’

  ‘Find out what?’ Clara asked, settling back into the crook of his arm, shivering with expectancy as he ran a lazy hand along her waist.

  ‘What you were having—if you were pregnant, I mean.’

  She stilled in his arms. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’ So deep was her blush that despite the darkness Clara was sure he must feel it radiating from her like a furnace.

  She hadn’t thought about it.

  At least not until recently.

  With Kell the fantasy had stopped at the barn. Tea lights and gardenias had been as far as she’d got, but since she’d been with Timothy suddenly all sort of ridiculous thoughts were popping into her consciousness at the most inappropriate of times.

  Like now.

  Imaging herself pregnant.

  Imagining Timothy’s euphoria.

  Gurgling babies with his deep green eyes, or perhaps her blue ones topped with toffee-brown curly hair…

  But not ginger.

  The fantasy always pulled up short there.

  ‘I think about it.’ His clear voice filled the darkness. His honesty almost scared her. ‘I think about it all the time.’

  If ever there was a time when life for Clara was pretty near perfect, those first couple of months with Timothy were just about it.

  He adored her.

  Not just in bed, but in everything she did. And it was nice, so refreshingly nice to be a part of a couple. To have someone to come home to or someone to wait up for. To have someone ask about her day and actually listen as she rattled on about how busy the clinic was, how appallingly long the mobile clinic had taken without Kell, how insufferable it was, for all intents and purposes, to be the only nurse in an expanding clinic. Even a fleeting bout of gastro was bearable with Timothy clucking over her like a broody hen, ringing in sick for her and policing the telephone whenever Shelly rang to enquire how she was doing. Even the agony of nursing Eileen, watching her hair disappear along with her spirit, was made slightly more bearable with Timothy beside her, letting her rant about the injustice of the world or simply holding her when she wept, when it all became too much.

  ‘Ross asked me my plans yesterday,’ Timothy ventured one morning, as they waited for the third snooze alarm to finally force them out of bed. Staring into the semi-darkness, Clara didn’t say anything, just pulled back the sheet and made to get up as a grumbling Timothy pulled her back to the cosy warmth of the bed.

  ‘Come on, Clara, five more minutes—there’s no rush.’

  ‘Oh, yes, there is.’ Pushing the sheet back, Clara lay for a moment willing her legs to move from the cosy warmth of Timothy’s embrace. ‘If I don’t get a move on, I’m going to be late and so will you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Timothy grinned. ‘Ross told me he’s already written my reference.’

  It was a joke, a tiny little light-hearted comment, but not for the first time Clara felt her heart sink further at the inevitability of Timothy’s departure. Three months had stretched before them like an eternity at the start, like the beginning of the school holidays when she had been a child. Endless weeks stretching ahead, an endless summer that would surely last for ever. But it was almost over now, like the uniforms being taken out, pencil cases checked, books being labelled. A glimpse of what lay ahead had her heart sinking at the prospect…

  ‘Just five more minutes,’ Timothy grumbled. ‘I’m trying to talk to you.’

  ‘It’s seven o’clock, Timothy.’ Clara gestured to her small alarm clock. ‘I’m supposed to be there in half an hour and I’m supposed to be doing a house call on Eileen this morning.’

  ‘She’s going to get better,’ Timothy said gently, as Clara listlessly pushed the sheet back, dreading the house call she had pencilled into her diary for later that day.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Clara snarled, terrified to believe him. ‘I thought doctors were supposed to err on the side of caution, be guarded in their outlooks. You can’t just sit there and say she’ll get better just like that. What’s the point of false hope?’

  ‘No point at all,’ Timothy said evenly, refusing to rise to her outburst. ‘But there is still hope for Eileen. Chemo does this, Clara, you know that better than anyone. The cure can be worse than the disease, you’ve got to stay positive for as long as Eileen needs you to and not a day longer.’

  ‘So you’re a psychiatrist as well as an oncologist now, are you?’

  Her bitter words were so out of character with her usual gentle nature that for a moment or two they both just stared at each other, until Timothy broke the strained silence.

  ‘Don’t shut me out, Clara. I’m here for you.’

  She gave a low laugh. ‘But for how long, Timothy? It’s all very well for you to be positive, to have encouraged Eileen to take the treatment, to offer to be there, but you’re not going to be, are you? It’s me that will be left holding her hand, it’s me that has to witness the kids watching their mother slowly dying. You’ll be up in Queensland with your underwater camera, snapping away at the reef, so don’t lie there and tell me not to shut you out when we both know that you’re going anyway.’

  Standing under the shower, Clara massaged shampoo into her hair, trying to ignore the memory of Timothy’s hurt expression when she had left the bed.

  He was only trying to help, only trying to comfort her, she knew that deep down, but therein lay the problem.

  Soon he would be gone, out of her life and on to pastures new—and what then?

  She’d always been independent, self-reliant, but Timothy had crept into her heart with alarming stealth, had become the rock she leant on, her hope, her sounding-board, and all too soon it was going to be taken away.

  Of course she wanted him to stay, she wanted that more than anything else in the world, but she was scared, scared of telling him just how much she wanted it. Terrified of a needy note creeping into her voice, terrified of betraying to him just how much she needed him, that he was so very much more than a rebound.

  They walked over to the clinic together, for once the silence between them unusually strained.

  ‘Do you want me to talk to Ross—about staying on, I mean?’

  ‘You do what’s right for you, Timothy.’

  ‘What about us?’

  They were at the clinic door now, hardly the best place for an in-depth discussion, but Clara did her best. ‘I want you to stay on. It’s just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  Clara took a deep breath. ‘Well, you’re going to go one day, aren’t you?’ When he didn’t say anything Clara pushed a bit harder. ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘You know I have to.’

  Clara gave a small nod, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘There’s nothing to stop you coming with me, though.’

  ‘So my job doesn’t count? I’m only a nurse all of a sudden.’ She turned hurt eyes to him. ‘It didn’t take long for you to start pulling rank, did it?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ Timothy fl
ared, but Clara refused to back down.

  ‘I’m the only nurse here, Timothy.’

  ‘There’s Shelly.’

  That didn’t even merit a response. ‘If I walk away now, what’s going to happen? Who’s going to take care of people like Eileen?’

  ‘Ross will have to find someone else,’ Timothy said evenly, and Clara gave a scoffing laugh.

  ‘Oh, come on, Timothy, we’ve got a permanent ad in all the papers, we’re registered with every agency in the land and still we never get anyone for more than a few months. I can’t just walk away. This is my family, I have a duty to them.’

  ‘What about your duty to yourself, Clara?’ Timothy pushed, refusing to get it. ‘Don’t you deserve to have a life, to be happy? You don’t owe Tennengarrah anything.’

  But Clara refused to be swayed. The anger faded from her voice and she managed a wobbly brave smile. ‘This is my home,’ she said softly. ‘I’m an outback girl and you’re an up-and-coming surgeon. Timothy, what we’ve had, what we’ve got, it’s great, but we both know…’ Swallowing hard, she looked up at him. ‘That this was never for ever.’

  ‘And that’s the way you want it?’

  Oh, it wasn’t, but it was the way it had to be so instead of speaking the truth she forced a smile. ‘You’ve got that blonde charge nurse to get back to.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Clara.’ Timothy pulled at her hand. ‘I haven’t even given her a thought. What about you?’

  Confused by his question, she didn’t respond.

  ‘Do you still think about Kell?

  There was something in his voice she couldn’t interpret, a wariness she was scared to explore.

  ‘Clara?’ His voice was sterner now, demanding a response, but Clara simply couldn’t give one. Instead she pulled her hand away and walked inside. Finding shelter in the ladies’ loo, she buried her face in her hands with a low moan. Screwing her eyes closed on stubborn tears, she dragged a deep breath into her body.

  Kell hadn’t entered her head for weeks now. It was Timothy she thought about, Timothy who demanded every second of her mind, but was that what he wanted to hear? That the rebound had misfired? That the love and devotion she had felt for Kell didn’t come close to the feelings she had for him?