Joy?
He didn’t know that he’d ever been exactly filled with joy, so perhaps it was joy, he just didn’t recognise it.
His roaming hand dropped to her waist, feeling the indentation of it, firm muscle beneath the skin on her belly—she was fit, this pint-sized boss of his, but now he wanted to see her naked. Pictured her, firm, and pale, and beautiful.
Her hands were on his face, cupping it, easing it away—easing their lips apart.
‘It’s not that I’m against kissing in the front seat of a campervan,’ she murmured, her voice just breathless enough to tweak Cam’s excitement higher, ‘but we’re out in public—almost—and doctors are supposed to be held in some esteem, particularly in small towns.’
He could see her face in the moonlight, see the scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, see lips puffy with his kisses and in her cheeks the rosiness of—what?
Embarrassment?
Desire?
He had no idea, and the realisation that he barely knew this woman struck him with the force of a hammer blow.
How could he be so attracted to a woman he barely knew?
Physical attraction was one thing, but he didn’t rush into relationships no matter how strong the pull.
Particularly with vulnerable women, and if there was one thing he did know about Jo, it was that she was vulnerable. She had that hole in her soul she’d talked about.
Though wouldn’t love fill a hole in someone’s soul?
His thoughts jerked to a standstill as abruptly as a car stopping when the brakes were slammed hard.
Love?
Where had that come from?
‘Cam?’
Jo’s voice was tentative, no, more than tentative, for he heard a distinct quiver in it.
‘Are we okay?’ she added. ‘Can we put this down as some kind of minor aberration? Can we go on as we’ve been going?’
He wanted to give her a hug then decided why not? And he gathered her into his arms and hugged hard.
‘Of course we’re okay,’ he assured her, and felt like Superman when her body lost its tension. ‘But I’m not so sure about the minor aberration part. We’re attracted to each other. We’re both adults. Would taking that attraction further be so wrong?’
Well, yes, probably, his common sense told him, given you’re not exactly cured …
‘You’re not staying,’ she reminded him, the words muffled by his shirt as she whispered them against his chest. ‘So all it could ever be is a brief affair, and … ‘
‘And?’ he prompted, although somewhere deep inside he’d have liked to suggest that he could stay on—that he could be okay again.
That he’d like to stay on!
But should he even be thinking about long-term commitment?
With his mind the way it was …
‘And I’d be left behind with the small-town talk, the gossip, the—’
He forgot about his own reasons for not committing and concentrated on her view of things. Got the picture immediately, even finished the sentence for her.
‘Whispers and sly looks and snide smiles.’
He reached beneath her chin and tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think,’ he said, then he dropped a very quick kiss on her lips. Very quick because anything longer would have led not forward but back to where they’d been. ‘I won’t do that to you, Jo.’
Well, you brought that on yourself, Jo thought bitterly as she pushed out of the warm security of Cam’s arms, eased herself across the seat—when had she, or he, undone her seat belt?—and opened the door.
‘I’ll walk home,’ she said. ‘It’s only a hundred yards.’
She set off, then heard him start the rattly engine of the van, and saw the lights, dimmed, as he pulled onto the road, driving slowly enough to follow her, a careful, caring man, Fraser Cameron, just not for her.
CHAPTER TEN
AGAINST all expectations, Jo had slept soundly, waking midmorning to a sunshine-filled day. She made herself a coffee and wandered out onto the deck, her hands cupped around the hot drink, sipping at it, waiting for the caffeine to kick in and wake her fully.
‘Morning, neighbour!’
The words startled her, but it was Cam’s voice that caused the sudden lurch in her stomach.
‘I thought you’d be out surfing,’ she grumbled, cranky at being caught in her favourite sleep attire, an ancient T-shirt of her father’s worn so thin it was soft and cool and comfortable. Cranky too at the way her body had reacted to his voice, and crankiest of all that he was there, interrupting her morning commune with nature.
‘Been there and done that,’ he said, so bright and cheerful she wanted to hurl her cup at him—except that it was still near-full and she needed the caffeine.
‘Do you always wake up so disgustingly cheerful?’ she demanded instead, slumping down into one of the low-slung canvas chairs and glaring at him across the gap between the decks.
‘I’ve been up for hours,’ he told her. ‘Had a surf and a run on the beach then picked up some freshly baked pastries for breakfast. Want to share?’
He opened the paper bag he’d been holding in his hand and the scent of sweet pastries wafted across from one deck to the next. Now it was Jo’s stomach talking to her, telling her how empty it was and how much it would appreciate a pastry.
Too bad! The one thing she’d decided on the short walk home the previous evening was that she should limit opportunities—outside work—for her and Cam to be together and so limit any chance of giving in to temptation as far as touching or kissing was concerned.
Though the kiss had been—spectacular!
‘I’ll bring them over,’ he was saying, completely undaunted by the fact she hadn’t answered. ‘I’d say come over, but you’ve got better coffee. I can only do instant and I can smell yours from here.’
He’s only coming for the coffee, Jo told herself, and felt a spurt of totally unnecessary disappointment, but out loud she said, very ungraciously, ‘Oh, okay, come over. Let yourself in, I’ll get changed.’
She hurried into her bedroom and pulled on some clothes—regular clothes, cargo pants and singlet top—pushed her fingers through her hair and clipped it up, washed her face and slathered on some moisturiser, debated lippy and told herself to get over it, then came out of the bedroom straight into the path of a frowning neighbour.
‘Can I assume you’ve been out your front door since you got up? To get the paper, perhaps?’
Her turn to frown.
‘I don’t get a paper delivered,’ she said, mystified by his attitude.
‘Put out the cat? Let the cat in?’ he persisted.
She threw up her hands in a helpless gesture.
‘Have you seen a cat around here? What on earth are you on about?’
‘Your front door—it was unlocked.’
He was standing so close she could feel the angry vibes he was giving off—other vibes as well, unfortunately. She stepped back but hit the wall and couldn’t finish a decent retreat. Only one thing to do, stand up to him.
‘So?’
His anger dissolved as quickly as it had appeared and he shook his head at her.
‘Jo, I know you grew up here and to you it is still a small seaside town, little more than a big village, but times have changed. The drug culture changed not only the users but the way we all have to live. An addict in need of a fix will not hesitate to break into his own family’s home to steal something to sell, and while you might not have desperate addicts here normally, right now you’ve got hundreds of strangers in town. You need to lock your doors.’
‘I know, I know,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t need the lecture.’
She didn’t add that these days she was careful about locking up, she’d just forgotten last night because she didn’t want him assuming she’d forgotten because of confusion over his kiss.
Which was why she had forgotten, of course, she just
wasn’t going to admit it.
‘Let’s eat those pastries,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring coffee onto the deck.’
She’d thought he’d go on out there but, no, he followed her into the kitchen, and began opening cupboard doors, obviously in search of a plate for his offerings, but opening cupboard doors?
Wasn’t that intrusive?
Jo knew it was—it was taking liberties. He was a stranger still and opening cupboard doors in her house was very intrusive.
So why did she feel a surge of pleasure—real pleasure—as if sharing her kitchen with someone was special, and comfortable, and very, very—well, nice?
She muddled her way through producing two cups of coffee, knowing now just how he liked his as she’d watched him make his own with the same machine down at the surgery.
‘Tray?’ he asked, and she pointed to the refrigerator, where a gap between the fridge and the wall provided a space big enough to take three bright, plastic trays.
He pulled out all three, studying them in turn, finally settling on one that had frangipani flowers all over it. He put the plate of pastries on it, two small plates, two knives—she’d missed him pulling out drawers to get the knives—then the two cups of coffee.
Jo grabbed a couple of paper napkins with the same bright design as the tray, and dropped them on it as he lifted it from the bench. They were close, so it was inevitable their eyes should meet—meet and hold, silently communicating memories of the kiss.
Desire, hot and strong, shimmied through her body.
She turned away, not wanting him to see the signs, read the desire in her face. Determinedly thrusting the reaction aside, she led him out onto the deck, setting the small table down between two chairs in the shade as the sun was heating up.
I don’t want to be doing this—
She should say it, not think it.
But saying it, she’d be lying because a lot of her was filled with pleasure over something as simple as sharing Sunday breakfast with this man.
Unfortunately the bit that wasn’t filled with pleasure was shouting warnings at her, warnings only partially soothed by the pleased part telling her he was just a colleague and a neighbour and there was nothing in it.
‘It’s a very special place, isn’t it?’ he said, interrupting her internal argument.
She smiled as she agreed.
‘Very special!’
She bit into a pastry and tasted the soft creamy cheese and sticky apricot in the filling, and let out a sigh of bliss.
‘So is this pastry,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’
Aware it sounded far too formal, especially given the heat they’d shared in the early hours of the morning, she fumbled around for some nice neutral conversation.
‘Where was home for you?’
After that it was easy, Cam talked of his family, growing up in the southern suburbs of Sydney with his three sisters.
Three sisters explained a lot, Jo thought as Cam was telling her of the games they’d played as children, the camping holidays they’d had. It explained the protective attitude she’d noticed from time to time, and the instinctive rapport he seemed to have with the women at the surgery.
‘And speaking of children,’ he said, after he’d listed off his nieces and nephews, ‘is there a particular O and G specialist you use in Port? Mrs Youngman is coming in tomorrow and I want to refer her to someone for a full examination before she goes too far with her plans for IVF.’
So the conversation slipped into work matters and although the doctor in Jo answered quite sensibly, she hoped, the woman felt again that uneasiness in her belly. It was as if her body, against all rationality, wanted to put itself to the use for which it was designed.
Nonsense, that’s all it was.
‘Have you talked to Helene about the chances of conception?’ she asked, to divert herself from whatever was going on inside her.
‘I have,’ Cam said. ‘Not that I needed to. When I phoned her she knew as much as I did if not more. She’d looked up everything she could find on the internet, and although she knows the odds of conception aren’t great, she’s still keen.’
‘I wonder why?’ Jo mused, and Cam straightened in his chair.
‘Does there have to be a tangible reason?’ he asked. ‘Couldn’t it be something as simple as a strong desire to have another child? We all have two sides to us and hear two voices, one of reason and one of passion, isn’t that true? And couldn’t it be passion talking to her?’
Could it?
Jo answered his question with one of her own.
‘Passion for someone, or passion to have a child?’
He shrugged and smiled.
‘I’m a doctor, so that’s not for me to know, but in general do you agree that we have the two voices?’
His eyes scanned her face and she knew he was looking for a reaction. Knew also that the conversation had shifted from Helene Youngman to something far more personal.
Something she didn’t want to think about!
‘I’m not sure about the passion,’ she told him, shifting so she could look out to sea instead of into those probing eyes. ‘Emotion certainly, but passion, I’m not so sure.’
‘Of course it’s passion,’ he argued, touching her arm so she had to turn back and face him. ‘It might be reason telling you—’
Damn it all, he’s going to talk about attraction again. Her mind panicked while her body warmed, but it cooled again when he finished the sentence.
‘To keep the refuge open, but it’s passion that keeps you working so determinedly for it, isn’t that so?’
She stared blankly at him for a moment, still lost on the path she’d thought the conversation would take.
Cam wondered what on earth had prompted him to talk of passion. He’d got a nice medical colleague-to-colleague conversation going and then blown it by bringing emotion into it—passion, in fact.
And the word had re-awoken all the physical symptoms he’d been trying to keep at bay since he’d seen Jo appear on her deck that morning, the sun shining through the fine material of her night shirt, outlining her curves in a golden glow.
He reminded himself of all the cons he’d come up with in his pros-and-cons argument when he’d got inside the flat last night—a brief affair would damage her reputation, maybe even hurt her if her feelings were engaged. And from his side, what did he have to offer? A man whose mind was cluttered with horror he was still having trouble getting over? A man who might never get back to whatever might pass for normal in this modern world?
Although wasn’t that changing?
Hadn’t he felt the shift?
‘I suppose you could call it passion.’
The admission, spoken as if the words were being forced out against her will, caught Cam by surprise so at first he thought she was talking about their attraction—the question he’d asked forgotten as he’d followed his own twisted thoughts.
‘The refuge,’ she added, in a falsely patient tone, picking up on his confusion.
‘Ah, yes, the refuge,’ he said, but he had to smile because he suspected her thoughts had flitted to other aspects of passion, so once again they were at a crossroads of some kind.
‘I’m having another cup of coffee. You?’
Was she escaping him?
He suspected she was, but now reason was back in control. It was stupid to even consider having an affair with this woman. Maybe in a year he could drift back this way. Maybe in a year he’d have come to terms with the past and be ready to look to the future—he could apply again for a position in Crystal Cove and she might even take him on …
If she hadn’t married someone else in the meantime.
Now, where had that thought come from?
And why did it make his gut knot?
‘Coffee,’ she said again, returning to set down the two cups.
‘Have you spoken to the employment agency?’ he asked, stirred up now, thinking maybe moving on wasn’t such a good idea. ‘About ge
tting a woman for the job?’
She shook her head, something he loved watching her do as it always dislodged more tendrils of hair. They coiled down her neck and sprayed out from her temples.
‘I haven’t given it much thought. Most people who want to work over Christmas are settled into their jobs by now and won’t be looking to move so I thought I’d leave it until the new year.’
He wanted to say, Keep me, but doubts tumbled in his head. He knew now he could commit to the job, but if he stayed, given the way he felt about Jo, could he commit to something else?
Like marriage?
He stood up, holding his fresh cup of coffee, and walked to the railing.
What could he offer in a marriage?
Jo had all this and he had, what?
Money in the bank for sure—overseas postings paid well— a fair amount of superannuation, a refurbished van and, yes, damn it all, still some baggage in his head.
That was what he couldn’t offer her.
Jo had talked about the bits of self she’d lost to love—love for her sister, her twin. His bits of self had been lost to hate—for wasn’t that what war was all about?
She admitted it had taken her years to become whole again—how long would it take him?
The jangling summons of the phone somewhere inside her house broke into his thoughts, and he knew from the moment she reappeared in the doorway to the deck, white faced and anxious, that it was bad news.
‘We have to go,’ she said. ‘An incident on the headland—Richard and Jackie Trent are up there and Richard is insisting on seeing you.’
She offered a rather fearful smile.
‘So you must have got through to him the other day!’
Cam crossed the deck in three strides.
‘I’m happy to go but you don’t have to come, Jo,’ he said. ‘I know what memories the headland will throw up at you. You can wait here. Mike will keep you posted.’
‘And leave Jackie and the boys without support? Leave you up there without … ?’
Without what?
What could she offer Cam?
‘Support,’ she finished, but she knew it was a feeble imitation of what she’d like to offer him.
New Doc in Town / Orphan Under the Christmas Tree Page 15