Put like that, it even sounded reasonable that he stayed, she thought. And there was no way she was arguing any more. Not when she wanted him to stay so much.
For all the right reasons, she told herself hastily. For very sensible reasons, which had nothing to do with the way her insides did this queer little lurch when he looked at her.
“You want to use Gran’s settee?’ she managed.
‘You want me to stay here with you?’
She did. It sounded wimpy and she had no right to ask him. There were plenty of spare bedrooms. But…
‘This room’s warm.’
‘So it is,’ he said, and suddenly he was smiling.
‘I—it seems a waste to heat another.’
‘It does,’ he agreed. ‘And it’ll mean I can check your vital signs during the night without getting up. Also it’ll mean I don’t need to get my sleeping bag from the car.’
‘You don’t need to check my vital signs.’ But the night was getting fuzzier and she was getting past arguing. ‘You have a sleeping bag?’
‘For camping. At the music festival. Not that I needed to. My friends organised us a camp that’d make a Bedouin sheikh jealous.’
‘Your friends?’
‘Fiona did most of the organising. She’s a radiologist and she’s a very organising person.’
Fiona. He had a girlfriend, then. Of course he did. Anyone with a smile like that would have a partner. There was no reason then why her somersaulting insides would suddenly somersault in a different direction.
It was too much. She was too tired. She needed to sleep and not think of problems and how she was going to manage with an injured knee and how she could check Gran through the night when she was so tired and what she was going to do tomorrow.
Without Max. Who had a girlfriend.
‘Do you need help with the bathroom?’ he asked, and she had to think about it before answering.
‘I can manage,’ she said with another of her dumb attempts at dignity.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Very well,’ he said, and smiled and lifted her eiderdown and tucked it up under her chin. And then, before she knew what he intended—before she could even guess he’d thought of such a gesture—he bent and kissed her.
It was a feather kiss, maybe a kiss of reassurance, of warmth and of comfort. But surely such a kiss should be on the forehead. Not on the lips.
But on her lips it was.
His mouth brushed hers, and it was as if the heat of the room was suddenly centred right there, and it was a surge of warmth so great it was all she could do not to reach out and hold him and lock the kiss to her.
Only her hands were under the eiderdown. Thankfully. Because to hold this man…
To hold him would be a shout that she needed him, that she was alone, she was bereft and he was everything she most wanted but could never have.
William…
She made herself say her husband’s name in her head but it didn’t work. There was nothing there.
William. Gone.
Max. Here. All male.
‘Goodnight, Maggie,’ he whispered, and she could have wept as he drew away.
‘Goodnight,’ she made herself whisper back.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to, but she did.
William, William, William.
As a mantra it had no strength at all.
Max. She wanted him to stay. Right here. Right now.
For ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE woke and sun was streaming in the windows. Max was kneeling in front of the fire and it was morning.
It was well into morning. Her eyes flew open, she stared at the sunlight flooding the room and thought this was no dawn light.
Her eyes flew to the grandfather clock in the corner and as if on cue it started to boom.
Nine booms. Nine o’clock!
‘And how any of you ever sleep with that thing is a mystery,’ Max murmured, kneeling to blow on the embers as she stared at the clock as if it had betrayed her. The embers leapt to life—of course. Would they dare not if this man ordered?
He looked…He looked…
Much cleaner than last night, for a start. He looked like he’d showered. He was wearing clean jeans and a clean shirt, though he had the sleeves rolled up as if he meant business.
He looked like he should always be here. Making her fire in the mornings. Living in her house. Just being here.
But then he turned to her and she saw the strain on his face and inappropriate thoughts went right out the window.
‘Betty died at six o’clock this morning,’ he told her, and her world stilled.
‘Died…’
‘You were sleeping so soundly that short of a bucket of cold water I couldn’t rouse you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m sorry.’
‘Betty,’ she whispered, and she felt a wave of grief for the old lady, a grief so strong it threatened to overwhelm her.
Though she’d known Betty by her correspondence and via William for longer, she’d only known Betty personally for a few months. For most of those months she’d been angry. Betty had conned her into coming, had trapped her. But despite her anger she’d never doubted Betty’s motives. She’d manoeuvred Maggie into coming for love of a son, for love of her son she had no other way to protect.
Maggie’s hands went instinctively to her own belly as her baby gave a fluttery kick inside her. Who knew what she’d do to protect this little one?
When did a mother’s love die?
‘Angus…’ she whispered.
‘Angus was with his mother when she died.’
‘Angus was!’ She stared at him, incredulous. In the whole time she’d been here Angus had never been in the house. It was almost as if he was afraid of it.
‘I thought they’d both want it,’ he told her, squatting back on his heels and meeting her gaze with steadiness and truth. ‘I thought if Angus has been farming for years he’ll understand what death is.’
‘But how did you make him come?’
‘I told him what was happening. I told him what I thought he should do and he agreed.’
‘But to make him listen…’
‘I know. I went over to the haystack, he backed away so I simply said his mother was dying and needed him to sit with her. Then I came back and sat on one of his tractors until he came. It took him half an hour to work up the courage, but he came. I stayed on the tractor and told him what Betty’s condition was, and finally he decided he could come into the house. Betty woke, just for a moment, as he arrived. He held her hand until she died.’
‘Oh, Max,’ she said, awed. And then, ‘Oh, I should have done that.’
‘I think your body was simply demanding you stopped,’ he said gently. ‘And to be honest, Maggie, it wasn’t you Betty wanted. She had a tiny sliver of awareness left, and it was all for Angus.’
‘Oh, Max,’ she said again, and burst into tears.
He moved then, like a big cat, covering the distance between them as if it was nothing. She’d half risen but he gathered her into his arms, as if that was where she’d been heading all along, and he held her close.
And maybe his arms were where she had been heading. She didn’t know—all she knew was that right now she needed him. She clung to him, he held her close and in those first few moments of grief she let out the emotions that had welled within her for years.
How long since she’d wept? Even the night William had died…His parents had been there and they’d been angry with her because she and William hadn’t consented to some new and amazing treatment they’d heard of in the States. It didn’t matter that William was far too ill to travel by the time they came on board with their offer to send him. Their anger had surrounded her, deflected her grief, making it seem like she had no right to a grief that was all theirs.
So now here she was, three years later, sobbing out grief for William’s grandmother instead, being held in the ar
ms of a complete stranger, letting it out, letting it out.
She didn’t care. She simply sobbed until she was done, and when he laid her back on the cushions and she finally managed a watery smile, she knew the time for crying was over.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘If Betty had Angus with her then, yes, she had everything she wanted. And she saw him with the calves last night.’
‘And he saw her with the calves,’ Max agreed. ‘He knows they were a gift from his mother. He’s back with them now. He even talked about burials.’ He smiled. ‘He seemed to think the back paddock’d be a good place but I managed to talk him out of it. We discussed where his father was buried and thought that’d be okay. I believe you’ll be able to talk it through with him when you’re ready.’
‘But—’
‘I’ve organised the undertaker to come in a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘And I’ve rung the coroner. He agrees that since the old doctor left detailed notes before you arrived, outlining Betty’s condition as terminal, I can certify her death, even though I didn’t see her until last night.’
‘How did you know all this?’ she asked, dazed.
‘You have her medical file on the dresser,’ he said. ‘I read it during the night.’
She took a deep breath. This was huge. She couldn’t sign Betty’s death certificate herself—not when she’d been sharing a house with her—but without a certificate from a treating doctor, the police would have had to be called; a coroner’s inquest required.
Max had circumvented it all.
‘You’ve been awake all night?’
‘Most of it,’ he admitted, and motioned to the grandfather clock and grinned. ‘Ben here kept me company.’
‘You could have moved,’ she said, but then she thought back to vague memories of the night. Once or twice, early in the night, she’d stirred. She knew she had. Both times Max had been right by her, asking about her pain, just there until she’d drifted off again.
She’d slept because he’d been right beside her.
Clearly not all the time.
‘I checked on Betty just after midnight,’ he continued. ‘I thought she was slipping then, but it was faster than I thought.’
‘Oh, Max.’ She gulped and swallowed, not knowing what to say. There was nothing to say.
‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘If you’re up to listening.’
‘More…’
‘I’ve had the night to think,’ he told her. ‘In between Ben’s timely announcements to the world. Maybe I should warn you that my theatre staff consider me a little bit…well, maybe their term might be domineering. And organised. Maybe to the point of obsession. I do like a good plan.’ He shot her another of his disarming grins. ‘So I’ve done some preliminary planning.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I know you won’t be able to take it all in right now,’ he said sympathetically. ‘So just listen and take in what you can. Ideally you need time to say goodbye to Betty, to plan her funeral, to let your leg heal and to get over the shock of the last twenty-four hours. I think you need to lie on this settee for the next week—possibly even until your baby’s born. Only there’s no one to take over your work. I took four days off for the music festival, which gives me today clear but that’s it. I have a huge surgical waiting list—I do all the major public gynaecological surgery for South Sydney—so, like it or not, after today I’m no help at all. So I need to act fast. First we get you showered.’
‘We?’
‘Objection at step one?’ he demanded quizzically. ‘You’re hardly steady enough to shower alone.’
‘If you’ve already showered,’ she said with another of her futile attempts at dignity, ‘you’ll see there’s rails and a seat set up for Betty.’
Betty. So much emotion.
‘Okay, you have rails,’ Max conceded, watching her face. Obviously seeing her need to get independent fast. ‘Next item on list is letting people know about Betty. William’s parents? Will they come? Your own parents?’
‘Not happening.’ She shook her head, trying to rid herself of a wave of self-pity. Of want. Of need.
Because her need wasn’t for her parents, who’d been a tiny part of her life before they’d sent her to boarding school at six, or William’s, who simply wouldn’t care enough to come, but for this man who she’d known only since last night and she had no right to need at all.
‘Friends?’
‘Betty has a town full of friends, but if you’ve let the undertakers know, the word will be around town already.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s easy. So now we move to stage three of my plan.’
‘Your plan. For world domination?’ she asked, cautiously, trying to smile.
‘Better. I’ve found you a locum.’
‘Max!’
‘Yeah, I know this is way too much organisation,’ he said, and raked his fingers through his dark hair with the air of a man who wasn’t sure where to start. ‘But, hell, Maggie, you’re a basket case.’
What? Imperceptibly her spine stiffened and her eyes flashed. ‘What did you call me?’
‘A basket case.’
‘I am not!’ A basket case.
‘Okay, only a tiny bit of a basket case,’ he said hurriedly. ‘The rest of you is pure, brilliant competence. But for the little piece of you that might need to put her leg up for a time…Maggie, do you need the income from your medicine?’
For a moment she thought about not answering. This was so not his business. But he was looking at with such concern, how could she not?
‘I have William’s insurance,’ she conceded.
‘Excellent. So if you aren’t emotionally committed to practising medicine for the next few months, then you don’t need to. You know you’ve had two calls this morning already?’
‘Two calls?’
‘Neither of them serious, both of them I’ve referred to the medical tent at the festival,’ he said. ‘But I can hardly leave you to run yourself into high blood pressure.’
‘I’m not like Alice.’
‘No,’ he said, and caught himself. ‘No.’
‘So?’
‘So nothing,’ he said, suddenly cool and professional. ‘Blood pressure or not, you’ve been overworking and undereating and it has to stop. So here’s my plan.’
Grief and shock had taken a back seat for the moment—fascination had taken its place. This was a man in move-a-mountain mode. Bemused, Maggie decided it might just behoove a girl to lie back and let him move it.
I have an internist friend who’s looking for work,’ Max said. ‘John’s a forty-year-old doctor from Zimbabwe. His wife, Margaret, is a dentist. John’s a highly trained doctor and he’s just finished his supervised assessment for accreditation in Australia. He had a job lined up in northern Victoria but it fell through last week. I rang him this morning and sounded him out about taking on the position of locum here for a while.’
‘You rang him?’
‘Just to check he’s still available,’ he said, still sounding clinically detached. As if he was handing out a prescription. ‘But to say he’s eager is an understatement. He has two young daughters who think the beach sounds great, and he’s free right now. If they can stay here while they size the place up, they can be here tomorrow. John can act as locum and if you’re interested in a long-term arrangement—even a partnership—that might work, too.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she said, and flabbergasted wasn’t too strong a word for it.
‘I have a surgical list first thing tomorrow morning so I need to leave tonight,’ he said apologetically. ‘But I rang the first-aid people at the festival. Until John arrives they’re happy for you to divert your phone through to them. They’ll cope with minor stuff and call for help on the big stuff. So today and tonight are covered. And then…John’s great. I’m sure he and his family will be sensitive to Angus and to your independence. Maggie, it’d mean someone would be here when you went into labour.’
And the professional detachment was gone. He was suddenly sounding hesitant—coaxing—as if he was trying to persuade her to do something against her will.
Against her will? Was he out of his mind?
She’d advertised for a locum but there’d been no applicants, yet here was Max, pulling doctors out of hats. To have another doctor here…
‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘I’m not kidding,’ he said, seriously. ‘And I’ve done nothing you can’t undo.’
‘Why would I want to undo it?’ she demanded, feeling breathless. ‘I mean, I haven’t met John but if you say he’s good…’
‘He’s good.’
‘They could stay here,’ she said, trying to take it in. ‘I mean…for the short term. But there’s lots of places in town for long-term rent. They might prefer it.’
‘You need someone to be here when you go into labour.’
‘Whoa. You sound like my mother.’ Then she heard what she’d said and corrected herself in her head. You sound like my mother ought to sound like.
Or not. There was nothing maternal about Max Ashton.
There was nothing maternal about the way she was feeling about Max Ashton. Or the way the concern in his eyes made her feel.
‘I’m very maternal,’ he said, and grinned, and, wham, there it was again, that smile.
She couldn’t afford to get sucked into that smile.
What was she thinking? Betty was dead, she reminded herself frantically. That ought to be enough to deflect her. She should be grief stricken. But after last night…
No. Grief had very little place here. She and Betty had grieved together during the final stages of the illness. Now there was an aching sense of loss, but with it a huge relief that Betty had gone as she’d wanted, in her own bed, with her son by her side, knowing all was safe with her world.
And that was because of this one overbearing, domineering doctor with a heart-stopping smile. Whose plans she had to focus on because she was feeling as if she was about to be swept up in a tidal wave. Any minute now he’d offer to paint her baby-crib pink.
Or not. She looked again at his face and saw strain behind his smile, and thought this was hard for him—planning for her when he wanted nothing to do with pregnancy.
City Surgeon, Small Town Miracle / Bachelor Dad, Girl Next Door Page 7