Reunited with His Runaway Doc

by Lucy Clark

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the medication to work and by the time the orthopaedic registrar arrived for the review, Mr Bird was in a much better position to receive treatment for the injuries he’d sustained during the accident.

  ‘That was quite something,’ Arthur stated, clearly impressed with the newest member of the Victory Hospital ED. Maybelle didn’t want any accolades.

  ‘Just doing my job, boss.’ She returned to the nurses’ desk in order to write up her notes and was thankful that Gemma was back and able to help with the computer log-in.

  ‘How did you know?’ Arthur asked, leaning against the desk next to where Maybelle was sitting.

  She shrugged a shoulder and continued to input the information into the computer. There was no way she was going to mention the fact that her mother had been an expert in synthetic compounds and that Maybelle had been raised listening to her parents discussing the various ways synthetic compounds could cause reactions.

  Hearing Arthur’s tone should make her pleased that she’d passed the test, but instead it made her a little uneasy about having his undivided attention focused solely on her. Any time anyone gave her their undivided attention, watching her closely, intrigued by her, Maybelle’s automatic response was to pull away, to put up walls, to withdraw. It was what she’d been taught to do, to remain as inconspicuous as possible… But now there was no need to hide, no need to keep such a strong distance from interacting with other people. Arthur was paying her a compliment and she needed to learn to accept them.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she glanced at him and offered a small smile. ‘Process of elimination. Mr Bird’s reaction to the trauma already inflicted on his body wasn’t within normal parameters so I simply looked for the abnormal.’

  ‘Have you come across another patient who was allergic to garlic before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So it was a lucky guess?’

  She stopped typing then and raised an eyebrow at him. ‘It was a calculated deduction, thank you very much,’ she pointed out, and received one of his delicious, rich chuckles as a reward.

  ‘As I said, lucky guess.’

  Maybelle sighed, unable to believe how happy it made her feel to be there with him, to interact with him in such a normal way. She absent-mindedly twirled her hair around one finger. ‘Don’t you have any more patients to attend to, Dr Lewis?’

  Arthur didn’t immediately answer but instead watched her closely, his brows drawing together in a frown. He paused a moment before saying quietly, ‘Are you sure we haven’t met before? You really do seem oddly familiar.’ His voice was quiet, as though he was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together but couldn’t remember where he’d left the jigsaw.

  Maybelle instantly dropped her hand and turned her attention from him. She wished he wouldn’t look at her in such a way, one that said he was intrigued by her. She didn’t want to be intriguing to anyone—man, woman or child—and especially not to Arthur Lewis.

  If she told him the truth, if she confessed that they really did know each other, it would only bring a plethora of questions and most of them were ones she either couldn’t answer or chose not to. The past twenty years of her life had been crazy, insane and by no means normal. This meant that people who had lived a very normal, very mundane life found it nigh on impossible to understand exactly what she’d been through.

  It was the reason she’d been given a new identity, a new name, a new hairstyle and even new contact lenses. What would Arthur say if she took them out? Would he recognise her more easily with blue eyes rather than the brown contacts she wore? Would he know that her name had been May Fleming rather than Maybelle Freebourne?

  Even the way he was looking at her brought back memories of another time when he’d looked at her with such intensity. Back then she’d had butterflies in her stomach, sweaty palms and jelly knees. This time, though, the sensations seemed magnified as she was no longer a teenager in the throes of a silly high school crush. How was it possible she still felt a smouldering attraction to a man she hadn’t seen in such a long time?

  Thankfully, she was saved any further thought on the matter by the sounds of ambulance sirens in the distance as the next wave of patients was brought to their door. However, as he gave her one last quizzical look before walking away, Maybelle realised she’d probably just given herself away by not immediately answering him, by not immediately denying any claims to his questions.

  ‘As I told you, I have one of those faces,’ was what she should have said. Or she could have followed with, ‘It’s the haircut. It reminds people of Marilyn Monroe,’ which was one she’d been planning to use, but instead all she’d done was drop her hand from the tell-tale fidget of winding her hair around her finger and look at him with an expression of trepidation lest he figured out exactly who she was.

  Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes for a moment, Maybelle dragged in a deep breath, pulling her professionalism around her. She could do this. She could start a new life even with part of her old life lurking around the edges. All she had to do was to keep her personal distance from Arthur Lewis and she would be fine. It was a good plan and one she was intent on keeping.

  *

  By the end of her first shift, apart from the ‘Arthur’ problem, Maybelle was pleased she’d made the decision to move back to the area where she’d grown up. The staff at Victory Hospital were great and she’d managed to find an apartment only five blocks from the suburb she’d lived in all those years ago. The apartment block was close to the hospital, which meant she could walk to and from work until she managed to find time to organise a car.

  Walking into her building, which housed four apartments, two upstairs and two downstairs, Maybelle knew she should be exhausted but there was still a spring in her step. All in all, today had been a good day and she’d made a point, so many years ago, to always acknowledge the good days when they came along because all too often her days hadn’t been that happy.

  Unlocking her front door, Maybelle headed into the furnished apartment. Yes, it was sparse, yes, there were quite a few boxes waiting for her to unpack, but she could still call it ‘home’. The furniture was utilitarian but served its purpose, and she’d more than likely be spending most of her time at the hospital, rather than lounging around here, watching movies on television… At least, that was how her life had been in the past. Work, sleep. Work, sleep. Don’t get involved with people. Don’t be too friendly with people. Don’t leave a lasting, memorable impression on people. Work, sleep. That had been her life.

  However, now that she was technically free from the constraints that had governed her life, she’d come to realise she had no idea how to be free. Her world had been ordered, direct and absolute in so many ways with little room for deviation. The last thing her government case worker had said to her was, ‘Go. Live a normal life.’ The problem was, she had no idea how to do that.

  Heading to the kitchen, she opened the fridge, looked at the shelves, empty except for half a container of milk, then closed it again. It was then she remembered the one thing she’d been planning to do after finishing work—go to the grocery store.

  Although there were several twenty-four-hour grocery stores in the area, all of them would require her to take a taxi there and then another one back, laden with shopping bags, and she simply didn’t have the energy for that. Where the ED had been quiet when she’d arrived at work that morning, it had remained at a steadily hectic pace until Arthur had ordered her to go home and let the next shift take over.

  ‘Looks as though it’s take-out time,’ she told her empty apartment, but even then she wasn’t sure who to call or who delivered. She could use the internet on her phone to check restaurants in the area but not only did that not guarantee a decent meal, it was also the antisocial thing to do. The only other thing she could do was to see if one of her neighbours was home, to see if they could provide some intelligence to good nearby food places or take-out menus. ‘That’s what a �
��normal” person would do,’ she told herself as she headed back out of her apartment. ‘They’d interact with neighbours and be friendly.’ However, the apartment on the upstairs landing next to hers yielded no response to her knock.

  Down the stairs she went and again received no answer from the first door she knocked on. One more door to try and if she was the only person in this building it looked as though she might be having milk for her evening meal.

  Maybelle knocked on the door, whispering to herself what she was planning to say. ‘Sorry to bother you. I’m your new neighbour, Maybelle Freebourne. I live upstairs and—’ The door opened before she could complete her preparation and the polite smile she’d pasted onto her lips died a sudden death as she stared into the grey eyes of Arthur Lewis.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as they stood staring at each other.

  ‘Me?’ He laughed at her question. ‘I think you’re forgetting that you’re the one who knocked on my door, Maybelle.’

  ‘Your door? Your door?’

  ‘Yes.’ Arthur pointed to the door he’d just opened.

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘I do.’ It was his turn to frown. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘I didn’t. I didn’t find you.’ She closed her eyes and rubbed one hand over her forehead before pinching the bridge of her nose as though trying to stave off a headache. ‘I can’t believe you, of all people, live here.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ He laughed, the delightful sound filled with utter confusion. ‘Why did you knock on my door?’

  She dropped her hand and opened her eyes. ‘Food.’ She spread her arms wide as though her answer made perfect sense.

  ‘You want food?’ He laughed again and she wished he wouldn’t because the more gorgeous he sounded and the more breathtaking he looked, the harder it was for her to shut him out of her mind. ‘Maybelle, I don’t understand what’s going on. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘And you’re just knocking on random doors, hoping someone will give you food?’

  ‘No.’ She pointed up the stairs. ‘I only moved in yesterday and with the emergencies today, I didn’t get around to going to the grocery store.’

  ‘Oh, you’re the new tenant in the building.’ He stepped back from the doorway, no longer confused but still looking incredibly handsome with that sexy smile touching his lips. ‘I was notified there was someone moving in but I didn’t realise it was you. Well, as you’re looking for food and as I’m just dishing up my dinner, please, come on in…neighbour.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘UH…’ MAYBELLE FALTERED as she stood on the threshold. Not only was she trying to wrap her head around the fact that the one man she’d wanted to keep at a distance lived downstairs but now he was inviting her to dinner! ‘I…uh…don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to know the phone number of a place that delivers food.’

  ‘I understood the request, Maybelle.’

  There it was again—that infuriating quirk of his lips and that twinkling brightness in his eyes that displayed his amusement at the present situation. ‘Good. Well, if you wouldn’t mind giving me some phone numbers or menus, I’ll get out of your hair.’

  Arthur stepped forward and leaned in close to her. ‘What if I don’t want you to get out of my hair? Ever think of that?’

  At that moment, Maybelle couldn’t think of anything due to his closeness. There it was. That glorious scent of his that made him smell like he’d come fresh from a shower, that he was a strong and confident man, that he could cope with any situation life threw at him. How she managed to get such a strong image from just the scent, she had no idea! Chances were it also had a lot to do with his own personal pheromones, his charm and his incredibly toned body, which, presently, wasn’t far from her own. If she were to lean in just a touch and angle her head a little to the left then…

  ‘Uh…’ Great. She was back to faltering again. What on earth was wrong with her? Usually, she had a thousand quips, all designed to keep people at arm’s length but Arthur Lewis wasn’t ‘people’. He was Arthur, and he was only trying to be neighbourly. If she made a big deal out of the situation, then it might bring more questions. Besides, doing something was better than standing here, staring at him, remembering with perfect clarity what it had been like to feel those lips against her own.

  Maybelle cleared her throat. ‘OK.’

  ‘OK…what?’ It was only when he spoke that she realised he’d been looking at her just as much as she’d been looking at him. A thread of panic wove through her. Had he recognised her? For one split second she couldn’t remember whether she was still wearing her brown contact lenses or not. Had she taken them out when she’d arrived home? She blinked her eyes a few times then glanced down at the floor. The contacts were also prescription and as she could see things quite clearly, that tended to indicate they were still in place.

  Whew! Forcing herself to think logically rather than with emotional irrationality helped calm the rising panic that Arthur had recognised her. The new persona was still firmly in place and she should stop dithering and make the decision to either stay or go. What would a new neighbour do when invited to dinner?

  ‘OK, I’ll come inside.’ She glanced up at him and forced a smile.

  ‘Oh. Good.’ With that, he seemed to recover his equilibrium and stepped back to welcome her into his apartment. ‘As I said, I was just about to dish up.’

  Maybelle breathed in and immediately felt her stomach gurgle. Arthur heard it too and chuckled. ‘I’m going to take that as a compliment, Maybelle.’ He headed into the kitchen where the delicious spicy scent increased.

  ‘What is that?’ She pointed to the slow cooker sitting on the bench top. ‘It smells delicious.’

  ‘Hungarian goulash,’ he told her.

  ‘You made it?’

  ‘Of course.’ He glanced at her over his shoulder as he pulled another plate out of the cupboard. ‘Cutlery’s in the drawer.’ He indicated the drawer in question. ‘Why don’t you set the table while I dish up?’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ she replied, all awkwardness fleeing in the light of having something warm and delicious to eat on such a wintry night. It was strange to be in someone else’s kitchen, going through the drawers and following his instructions regarding where to find other things such as place mats and wine glasses.

  ‘I’m hardly your boss here, Maybelle.’

  ‘Sorry. I meant, yes, chef.’

  She was rewarded with another one of his delicious chuckles. ‘Better.’ It didn’t take him long to dish up and by the time he’d done that, Maybelle had managed to find everything she needed to set two places at the table.

  ‘Bon appetit,’ Arthur remarked as he placed a plate in front of her. Not only was there Hungarian goulash on the plate but mashed potatoes and vegetables, and everything smelled delicious.

  ‘Thank you, Arthur. This is…this is very kind of you,’ she replied, anxious to let him know that this hadn’t been her plan. She was trying desperately not to think about the last time they’d been alone together…that night in his room. In some ways it felt completely right to be here alone with him, and in other ways she half expected his parents to walk in, much as his father had interrupted them so very long ago.

  ‘Ah…my mother would be proud.’ He raised his glass of wine and held it out to her.

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Yes. She done raised me good and proper like.’ He clinked his wine glass to hers then chuckled at his incorrect English. Then, as though he had no idea of her turbulent emotions, he sipped his wine and started to eat his dinner.

  Seeing Arthur again was one surprise she’d managed to deal with, but to hear him talk of his mother made her want to ask questions about his family. How were his parents? Were they still alive? Doing well? How was Clara? Oh, her dear, sweet friend Clara. How she’d missed Clara those first few years.

  As they ate, Arthur asked very general questions about her
last job in Sydney, asking her if she knew certain people. She did her best to keep her answers vague because at that last hospital she’d had a different identity. There, she’d been Margaret Adamson, working in the paediatric emergency department.

  That was one thing with being in the witness protection programme organised by the government—you were able to have all sorts of papers and passports provided in the new identity they created for you. Every time she and her parents had been forced to move, another set of papers had been created and the old ones destroyed.

  This last time around, with the threat to her life deemed to be over, she’d asked if she could go back to her real name, to finally become May Fleming again. Her case worker had denied the request, telling her that when they’d first been put into witness protection their true identities had been listed as void.

  ‘There’s no going back. Only moving forward. Why not choose a name that is similar to your own?’

  And hence Dr Maybelle Freebourne had been created, and whilst May Fleming’s experience in medicine was indeed at an exceptional level, the qualifications for Dr Maybelle Freebourne had been adjusted and printed up on new parchment paper by her case worker. There was no way she could tell Arthur any of that, so tried to change the subject, turning her attention back to the delicious food.

  ‘There’s a specific spice in your goulash that I’m having trouble pinpointing.’ She took another mouthful and closed her eyes, trying to figure out what it might be. ‘Hmm…cardamom?’ Maybelle licked her lips and opened her eyes to find him staring at her with such intensity that her stomach flipped with nervous knots.

  ‘Garam masala,’ he stated bluntly, clearly having other topics he wanted to discuss rather than the ‘secret’ ingredient in the food. ‘Maybelle, I know you say we haven’t met before but there’s something about you that is…’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘You’re familiar to me. So much so that it felt completely natural to invite you to share a meal with me, especially when we’ve only just met.’