She was intrigued enough by now to actually look at the man who was sitting across the table from her. His face was freshly shaven so quirky lips and pale blue eyes were clearly visible, and his hair, though still long, was shiny clean—brown streaked with gold.
He was more handsome even than his photo, which had made him look formal and a little stern, while this man would have every woman in town booking in for appointments.
Best to stop considering his looks and get back to the conversation.
‘Why do you ask?’
He grinned at her, making her forget her decision to stop considering looks just long enough to add super-smile to the catalogue of his appeal.
It also caused just a little tremor in her stomach.
Well, maybe more than a little tremor, but it was still small enough to ignore.
‘Just that every patient I’ve seen this morning, the men included, would find it a perfect career choice. Some were more subtle than others, but before I’d written a script, every one of them knew my marital status—single—my career prospects—doubtful at present, although most assured me you’d keep me on—and had asked what I thought about my boss. Didn’t I think she was a wonderful woman? I’ve also been told that you’re a good cook, one woman seemed to think you could sew, while several others assured me you were a good financial prospect as you owned the surgery and the house and also had investment properties in the city.’
‘Sew?’
Cam smiled again as the word burst from his boss’s lips.
‘Why the hell would anyone be telling you I can sew? Why would I want to sew? Why would you be interested? You’ve been in the army. I’m sure you’re much better at sewing than I am, given the number of buttons you must have had on your uniforms, or are doctors the kind of officers who have people who sew on their buttons?’
Knowing all three of his sisters would have reacted with the same horror, Cam continued to smile.
‘I think that particular patient thought it was a nice womanly trait to point out to me, and, no, no button sewers in my army life.’
‘You’re enjoying this!’
The accusation was accompanied by a fairly good glare, well up on the glare scale he’d set up in his head many years ago. She looked good glaring, too, fiery colour in her cheeks, her eyes seeming greener, a bit like an angry elf.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, teasing her because it was fun. ‘Though I do wonder what it is about you that makes everyone think you’re incapable of finding yourself a man and that you need help from the whole town to sort out your life.’
A very angry elf!
‘Bloody town!’ she muttered. ‘Honestly, they never let up. I shouldn’t have employed you—I knew that right from the start—now we’re going to have to put up with every patient casting sideways glances at us, or, as you’ve found this morning, asking straight out. If I’d had an ounce of sense I’d have come home from Sydney as a widow.’
‘Having killed off your husband and got away with it?’
Only with difficulty was Cam holding in a laugh.
‘There’s no reason I couldn’t have killed off some mythical husband while I was training in Sydney. Not murdered the poor man, but I could have had him die a painful, lingering death, leaving me grieving for ever. That way they’d have accepted I wasn’t interested in a relationship. But coming up here single? Big mistake! I’ve had patients trailing their sons and nephews and even grandsons through the door—here’s Edward in from the farm to meet you, he’s got one hundred and forty breeding sows and good teeth. The place is impossible.’
Cam had to smile, but just to tease her further he did the maths.
‘One hundred and forty breeding sows? What? A couple of litters a year? Twelve to fifteen a litter? Edward would have been a good catch!’
‘Edward was not the slightest bit interested in me once he realised I haven’t a clue about pork, ham and bacon, and have never known which bit comes from where. What’s more, he’s happily engaged to a woman who works in the piggery for him, who understands percentage body fat and other things important to pigs.’
Jo hoped she’d spoken coolly enough to put a stop to this absurd conversation, but inside her there was a little glow at the simple pleasure of having someone to talk to, to joke with, while she took a break. Not that she didn’t talk and joke to the other staff, two nurses and the receptionist, but talking to Cam was different somehow.
Because he was a man?
Hell’s teeth, she did hope not! Her mind went into panic mode at the thought. She didn’t know if she was ready for a relationship with a man—well, she was, her body was—but was she ready for the fallout when he moved on? For the talk around the town, for the pain if she was foolish enough to fall in love with him?
Her body’s reaction to him could be explained. That was definitely because he was a man, and possibly because her body had been pure and chaste for so darned long she could barely remember what attraction was like.
Until now.
Though surely it hadn’t always been this strong—this immediate …
And how could she be thinking of a relationship when the man had shown not the slightest interest in her as anything other than his boss?
‘Mrs Youngman.’
He was looking at her, obviously awaiting a response, his eyes looking grey-blue today—the charcoal shirt?
‘I’m sorry, miles away,’ she muttered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks when she realised just where her thoughts had been. ‘You were saying?’
‘Mrs Youngman was one of my first patients. The note on the front of her file said, “Query IVF.” She’s fifty-two. Has she talked to you about this?’
The question brought Jo’s focus back to work immediately.
‘Helene Youngman? That’s who you’re talking about?’
Cam nodded, which didn’t help at all.
‘Query IVF? Who wrote that?’
Now he shrugged, the impossibly wide shoulders lifting the neat charcoal shirt, moving the material so she saw the V of tanned chest beneath the unbuttoned collar. Nope, her mind might be focussed but her body was still hanging in on the attraction stuff, stirring deep down.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied. ‘I thought maybe you had at her last appointment, or perhaps the receptionist when Mrs Youngman phoned for an appointment.’
‘Helene Youngman!’ Jo repeated, trying to come to terms with the town’s mayor making enquiries about IVF. She had grown-up children and she was a widow. Hauling her mind back to work, Jo added, ‘She must have asked to see you, to see the new doctor—everyone in town would have known you were here within hours—because she didn’t want to talk to me about it, which is a bit of a downer for me as we’re quite friendly. Not that it matters who she talks to, of course, but what did you tell her?’
‘Only what I knew—specialist clinics in the capital cities, maybe in large regional cities—best to see a gynaecologist first and get checked out before spending too much money. I want to check out information about available programmes so I know for the future, but didn’t want to ask one of the nurses because she, Mrs Youngman, gave the impression she was embarrassed enough asking about it, although she must have mentioned it to someone because of the note. I said I’d see what I could find out for her and post it.’
‘Embarrassed? Poor thing, that’s exactly what she would be. Actually, it’s hard to believe she came here to enquire, rather than drive down the coast to Port, but she’s a busy woman. She’s our local mayor and runs two hairdressing salons as well. Although if she goes through with it—and good luck to her if she does—speaking to a doctor about it is going to be the easy part. Facing the local population as it becomes obvious, that’s what will be hard for her. We’ll need to make sure she gets plenty of support.’
He liked the ‘we’, as if she’d already accepted him as a colleague, but watching her Cam could practically see Jo’s mind working as she tried to puzzle out the request so when she
added, ‘I didn’t even know she was seeing someone, let alone involved enough to want a child with him,’ he wasn’t surprised to see a blush rise in her cheeks.
She pressed her hands against them.
‘What a small-minded thing to say—why should I know? That’s just what I was talking about earlier. Small-town mentality, you see. We all think we know everything that’s going on all the time, and if we don’t we’re surprised, even a little put out. That’s terrible, isn’t it?’
The clear green eyes, like the shallow water at the edge of the ocean when the surf was flat, met his with a plea for—understanding? Absolution?
The first he could give.
‘It’s natural enough, and part of the charm of small towns.’ The colour was fading from her cheeks so he went for the second as well. ‘And I didn’t find it small-minded. To me you simply sounded caring.’
She smiled at him and it was as if the sun had hit the placid green water, sparking golden lights in it.
Golden lights on placid waters? Was his success in getting a job here—even if it was only temporary—turning him fanciful? Had waking up to that spectacular view then the chance for an hour in the surf before breakfast and work altered the chemistry in his brain?
He brought his mind back to work.
‘So, what do you know of it? Do you keep information? Is there a specialist clinic in Port Macquarie or would she have to go to Sydney?’
The eyes she fixed on him were serious now, intent, and a little frown was tugging at her eyebrows.
‘I’ve read something recently about some IVF clinics restricting treatment to women over, I think, forty-three. It can’t be a totally random age choice but apparently the odds of conception in women older than that are so low they only allow one try.’
‘Is that fair?’ Cam asked. ‘Given the range of ages at which women can reach menopause depending on genetic and other issues, might not a fit fifty-two-year-old woman be as good a recipient of treatment as a younger woman with less healthy reproductive organs?’
Jo smiled at him.
‘You’d be wasted surfing along the coast and not working,’ she said. ‘You’re obviously an empathetic doctor and, yes, you’re right, it seems strange to pick an age, but funding—it always comes back to money. Check out what you can on the net, ask one of the nurses to dig out the information we have—they won’t talk—and we’ll take it from there.’
He liked the ‘we’ part, again, which was foolish given it was his first day at work and the job was temporary. And he’d have liked to talk some more—not necessarily about IVF—but his boss was on her feet, small, neat feet clad in sandals, her toenails painted the palest pink with what looked like little faces or maybe flowers stuck on them.
And since when had he noticed feet? Could he blame the army and its predilection for shiny boots?
Or could he put that down to the view and early morning surf as well?
‘Patients await,’ she added as she bustled through the door, although it seemed to him she was escaping something rather than hurrying towards something.
Escaping him?
Was it the small compliment he’d paid her—calling her caring was hardly world-shattering, Jo wondered as she fled the lunchroom. Or was it the attraction that was getting harder to ignore whenever she was near him?
He was just a man.
Okay, he was a tall and handsome man with a chest a gorilla would have been proud of, but physical attributes had never been that important to her in a man. Men she’d loved, well, nearly loved, or thought she’d loved at one time or another hadn’t been exactly weedy, but given that she was hardly red-carpet material herself, she’d never expected too much in the way of looks in a man. She’d found attraction in common interests, shared jokes and a sense of being at ease with the person.
And, for some unknown reason, she had been at ease almost from the start with Fraser Cameron, even when she’d thought he might be coming to rob the surgery.
She had to get her head straight.
Think about Helene! She was healthy—kept herself fit running and swimming—in fact, Jo often ran with her on the beach in the early mornings.
And she wanted a baby?
A totally unfamiliar sensation coiled in Jo’s belly.
No! No way was she going to get clucky now! She never got clucky. She handled babies every day of the week and heard not even the faintest tick of the fabled clock.
Because she’d never fancied anyone enough to get involved, enough to consider having children with him?
Even Harry?
That was a scary thought because it prompted the question why now, and she didn’t want to consider the answer in case it had something to do with blue eyes and a quirky smile and soft brown hair with gold highlights …
It took some effort, but she turned her mind back to work matters.
She collected the pile of files for her afternoon appointments and headed into her room, promising herself she’d do some research into IVF for older women on the internet later. It would keep her busy after dinner which was good because the previous night, imagining Cam in the flat next door, had been so uncomfortable she’d ended up going back to the beach and running until she was exhausted enough to go home and sleep.
Maybe a bit of IVF research would be good …
And the squirmy feeling in her stomach was probably indigestion.
Fate dictated that her first three patients of the afternoon were babies. Two were in for injections, which one of the nurses would give, and six-month-old Kaylin, a gurgling bundle of delight had decided she didn’t need to sleep.
Ever!
‘She’s okay now because she’s been in the car and she always sleeps in the car,’ Kaylin’s mother, Amy Bennett, explained. ‘But we can’t drive around all night so she gets some sleep because it means we don’t get any. We’re getting desperate, Jo, and Todd gets so cranky when he doesn’t get his sleep and I know I’ll lose my milk if things don’t settle down. With the dairy we can’t avoid the milking every morning and with a hundred milkers Todd needs my help. In the beginning Kaylin was good, she’d just sleep in the capsule down at the dairy while we worked, but that only lasted about a month. Remember I came in to talk to you before … ‘
Amy’s voice trailed away.
Jo thought about it as she dug through files in the cabinet behind her for information on the sleep programme offered from time to time at the local hospital in conjunction with various government departments.
Any number of babies had problems developing regular sleep patterns, but Kaylin had so far defied all the tried and trusted methods of training babies to sleep and not only was Amy looking stressed and worn out, but the baby, too, was suffering.
Think laterally! Jo reminded herself of her father’s words. Running a successful practice in a small coastal town meant understanding the dynamics of her patients’ lives. A pregnant woman with complications might refuse to go to the more specialised hospital in the nearest regional city unless someone—usually the family doctor—organised someone to look after her older children.
She’d learnt this from her father even before she studied medicine, hearing him discuss options for patients’ welfare that went beyond straight doctoring.
So as far as sorting things out for Amy went, Kaylin’s sleeping pattern was only part of the problem.
‘I can arrange for you to stay at the hospital while the expert works with you and Kaylin,’ Jo explained as Amy leafed through the information, ‘but it means Todd will have to get someone in to give him a hand with the milking. You’ve still got that old house on the property, haven’t you? The one you’ve rented out from time to time?’
Amy nodded.
‘Then maybe you could offer it rent free to someone in exchange for help with the milking. That will give you more time to spend with Kaylin. Now she’s getting too big for the capsule, you’d have to find an alternative way to keep her safe while you’re helping Todd, in any case
.’
Amy looked doubtful.
‘You know we did it once before,’ she murmured. ‘I think it was your dad, just before he left, that arranged for the Scott family to have the house.’
‘Oh, dear, not so good a suggestion, then,’ Jo replied, remembering the complicated plan she and Lauren had cooked up to get Mrs Scott and the two little Scotts out of the house and into the recently opened refuge when the man Todd Bennett had employed had turned out to be an abusive husband.
Jo shuddered at the memory, thinking of the volunteer who’d driven the wife and children to safety and who had later been targeted by Bob Scott. The volunteer’s house had been peppered with eggs and tomatoes.
‘But then again, it’s hardly likely you’d get another couple like the Scotts.’
Amy shrugged.
‘You just don’t know, do you?’ she said, but after Jo had checked out both her and Kaylin, Amy agreed she’d talk to Todd about it and let Jo know if she wanted to stay in the hospital for the sleep programme.
‘Do you know where Mrs Scott and the kids went?’ she asked as Jo was walking with her back to the reception area.
‘Back to Mr Scott,’ Jo told her, remembering how wary she’d been when the woman had made that decision. ‘Mr Scott completed a programme they were running in Port to help men like him and I think he joined a support group, so hopefully it all worked out.’
Amy waved goodbye and Jo turned to go back to her room to check who was next. She ran smack bang into a broad chest.
‘Men like him?’ the owner of the chest repeated. ‘Abusive?’
Jo nodded, her mind still full of the uneasiness that thinking about the Scotts had caused.
‘And the man went to Port? There’s a refuge but no programme for men here?’
Jo had backed away from him, and now his persistence forced her to look up into his face.
‘The Scotts were gone two years ago, why the interest?’
Cam beamed at her, his smile so warm she felt it radiate against her skin.
New Doc in Town / Orphan Under the Christmas Tree Page 5