by Amy Andrews
‘I’ll get the seat,’ Charlie said.
Being unfamiliar with children’s safety seats, he made a real hash of it. ‘How do you get the blasted thing out?’
Carrie laughed. ‘Here.’ She gently passed Dana to him. ‘Move aside I’ll do it.’
Charlie felt a funny tightening in his chest as Dana murmured and wriggled in his arms, trying to find the most comfortable position. Her blonde head snuggled into his neck and her hair smelt like toffee-apples.
Carrie removed the seat easily and he indicated for her to precede him. Carrie placed the seat on the ground and opened the front door. She turned and held her arms out for Dana. Charlie passed her over gently.
It was such a domestic scene Charlie couldn’t quite believe he was in it. Or how…nice it felt. It had an odd kind of pull. But his life was complicated, his head was messed up and she had a child. And he’d probably never see her ever again. They were hardly compatible.
‘Well, thanks for this, Charlie. I really appreciate it. It was nice meeting you. I just wish it had been under different circumstances.’
He chuckled. ‘Amen to that.’
Carrie walked through the door and closed it without looking back. She put Dana to bed, trying not to think about the sense of intimacy she’d had when Charlie had handed Dana back. It was insane to think that way. Charlie was gone. The book had shut on their brief encounter. She had a daughter to raise and a career to forge.
She didn’t need any Charlies in her life.
CHAPTER TWO
CHARLIE sat at his desk on Monday morning and drummed his fingers impatiently. He’d slept badly and his first appointment was late. He was annoyed. Just because he ran a drop-in centre, it didn’t mean he had time to wait around for nosy hospital administrators.
He picked up the phone and dialled Joe’s number. His best friend answered with his usual jovial greeting.
‘Deep, philosophical question for you. Is it insane to fantasise about a woman who nearly vomited over you and you had to talk out of a panic attack?’
‘And this couldn’t wait half an hour?’
‘Nope.’
‘Is she hot?’
‘Hell, Joe, I said deep.’ Charlie laughed. ‘We saved a life together. Well…actually, she was a mess but…I can’t stop thinking about her.’
‘OK, buddy, back up. Tell me the story.’
Charlie relayed the details of the previous night’s incident. ‘She’s so not my type. She looked like a gypsy. She was wearing tie-dye, for God’s sake. You know I prefer pinstripes.’
‘Like vile Veronica?’
‘Well…yes.’
‘Oh, yeah, that turned out so well.’
‘Well, it should have.’
‘Your ex-wife was a stuck-up cow. Strikes me you could do with a little tie-dye.’
‘She has a child. A little girl.’
‘OK, stop right there.’
‘I know, I know. It’s crazy. I shouldn’t be thinking like this.’
Joe laughed. ‘Relax, Charlie. It’s just the celibacy talking, man. In two weeks’ time the tests will come back negative and you can get back on the horse. No man can think straight after a year of no sex.’
Charlie nodded. His friend made a very good point. ‘Right.’
‘Right. So…see you soon?’
‘Right.’
Charlie hung up the phone and checked his watch, his thoughts returning once again to Carrie. Damn it! He drummed his fingers more loudly.
Carrie was late. It was unprofessional and rude. She tried the number again but was blocked by yet another busy signal. Last night’s accident had sure thrown a spanner into the works. Having to arrange insurance and quotes and organise a hire car this morning had not been conducive to punctuality. And she’d slept badly, tossing and turning and thinking about Charlie all night.
She stood in front of the drab-looking building that she’d been assigned to and felt uncharacteristically depressed. A faded sign on the front announced it was the Valley Drop-In Centre. God, I’m tired. She pushed through the mesh reinforced glass doors and looked around the room.
‘Dr Wentworth?’ she asked a couple of bored, tatty-looking teenagers. They pointed to a closed door and she approached it briskly. She had a job to do and regardless of her near-death experience last night, she needed to put it aside and concentrate on today. Concentrate. The chipped nameplate said ‘Dr Charles Wentworth’. She thought of Charlie and then shook her head disgustedly. Concentrate, damn it!
She gave a brisk rap.
‘Come in.’
Carrie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and walked into the office. She stopped in mid-stride, knowing instantly who the tall rangy man with the shaggy downcast head sitting behind the desk was and gave a startled gasp.
Charlie looked up at the noise, his pen stilling in surprise. ‘Carrie?’
‘Charlie?’ A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t be. ‘You’re Dr Charles Wentworth?’ she asked, hoping desperately that he was just there doing some locum work for the good doctor who she’d assumed to be years older.
‘The very same.’ He nodded. Surely she wasn’t his appointment? ‘And you’re…Dr Douglas?’
Carrie nodded, temporarily unable to form words.
Charlie stared in dismay at her smart businesslike suit. Navy blue. Rich, red, silky blouse. Pinstripes. No tie-dye in sight. Pinstripes—hell! ‘And you’re here to…’
She nodded again. ‘Audit you.’
The wall clock ticked so loudly in the silence it might as well have been a bomb. Charlie recovered first, ignoring the ominous ‘A’ word and its implications to the viability of the centre. He’d lived under the cloud of closure since he’d opened the clinic five years ago.
‘You’re a doctor?’ What the hell?
Carrie lifted her chin. She’d never had to justify her title before and she was damned if she’d do so now. For the next month she was in charge here so it was imperative that she assert her authority immediately. Having him think less of her qualifications, ones she’d worked long and hard for, ones her parents had worked two jobs and re-mortgaged the house for, rankled. ‘Yes, I am.’
Charlie was flabbergasted. He couldn’t have been more surprised than if she’d told him she was a hooker. ‘A medical doctor?’
‘Yes, Charlie, a medical doctor.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
She shrugged, trying for nonchalant when in reality her heart was hammering madly in her chest. Surely he could hear it? ‘I’ve been in management for a while now.’
‘I thought only middle-aged has-beens went into management.’
No. Sometimes young has-beens did, too. ‘It’s a legitimate career option these days. I’m on track to become the youngest hospital MD in Australia.’
Whoa—real party girl. ‘So, what, when other little girls wanted to be fairies and princesses, you decided to chose something more—’ boring ‘—practical?’
Carrie felt her spine stiffen. She was used to subtle male put-downs. Making her way in a male-dominated career had given her a thick skin and a very low tolerance level for fools. Why did he make ambition seem so dirty? Would he have asked her the same question had she been a male? Where was the man from last night who had so tenderly handed Dana to her?
‘Do powerful women threaten your masculinity, Charlie?’
OK. This conversation was bizarre. She was standing before him in her fashionable pinstriped suit—hell, pinstripes—that moulded curves he hadn’t even been aware of last night. Her collar was up on her soft, wine-red shirt—very chic—and it clung to the very interesting rise of flesh that strained against the buttons, barely succeeding in concealing her cleavage.
Indignation burned in her eyes behind trendy frameless glasses that sat high on her perfectly straight nose. She had some shiny gloss stuff on her full lips, the only make-up he could detect, and they glistened. Her wavy hair was pulled back, restricted in some k
ind of clasp thingy, not a stray hair in sight.
She was the epitome of a modern businesswoman. Composed. Professional. Collected. And a far cry from the cot case of last night. Pale. Shaken. Hyperventilating. Try as he may, he just couldn’t reconcile the two images. It was as if last night hadn’t even happened.
‘Not at all,’ he said dismissively. ‘Actually, I find powerful women very sexy. Hell, I even married one. I just couldn’t think of anything worse if I tried. Management.’ He shuddered. ‘All that paperwork.’
Carrie swallowed. Did he find her sexy? The idea was as seductive as it was preposterous. She reeled in her straying thoughts. What the hell did she care if he did or not? Whatever happened to asserting her authority? She was going to need to be twice as hard with this man now he’d already had her at a disadvantage. Now he’d seen her so vulnerable.
‘Yes,’ she said briskly, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. ‘Apparently paperwork’s not your forte.’
Charlie chuckled. Paperwork was the bane of his life.
Carrie pursed her lips disapprovingly. He could find this as amusing as he liked but it was just irresponsible as far as she was concerned. When you were running a business, particularly with someone else’s money, you had to be fiscally accountable.
‘It’s taken me a while to decipher some of your figures, particularly the last year’s, and a lot of it’s incomplete. To finish my investigation I’ll need to see all your business files, bank records, activity statements and so on.’
Charlie stared at her, his ire rising. She was looking so prim and proper. So together. So unlike the woman from last night. She held the upper hand and she knew it. The future of the clinic depended on the outcome of her report. ‘I have some of them ready. I’ll have to get the rest together for you,’ he stonewalled.
Carrie heard the flint in his voice. She glared at him. Did he think because he had already seen her at less than her best that she was just going to fold and meekly surrender? He needed to know now that the woman he’d seen last night had been a complete anomaly.
‘You’ve had over a week to get this information together,’ she growled, trying to keep her temper in check. ‘I don’t appreciate these stalling tactics.’
Tactics? ‘Lady, what the hell is it you think we do here all day? I don’t have time to scratch myself most of the time. Trying to locate five years’ worth of documentation with the few snatched minutes that I get isn’t possible. You know, I’m trying to practise a little thing called medicine here. Not that I expect you to understand that.’
Carrie felt the barb hit her in the chest and put her hand on her hip to steady herself from the impact. She’d wanted to be a doctor ever since she’d been able to say the word. Being judged by him professionally and found to be lacking was a new experience for her. Especially when he was basing his assessment on last night’s performance. That was hardly fair. It had been four years since she’d had a clinical role. Her management skills, on the other hand, were very highly praised. It was like comparing apples and oranges.
‘Please, don’t call me lady. Doctor or Carrie will be fine.’ The frost in her voice could have frozen a lake.
‘I guess it’ll have to be Carrie, then.’ If she wanted to be called Doctor she was going to have to earn it!
She got his meaning loud and clear. And ignored it. ‘I’ll start with what you’ve got,’ she said haughtily. ‘How about you show me around, allocate me an office and I’ll get started?’
Charlie gave a harsh laugh. He couldn’t believe he’d lain awake all night thinking about this woman. Did she have any idea what it was like at the coal face any more?
‘This isn’t some posh city specialist clinic, Carrie. We don’t have offices to spare. There’s only mine and the one opposite.’ He pointed to the door behind her across the hallway and watched the line of her neck and the interesting pull of fabric across her chest as she twisted to check it out.
‘It’s used most days by our regular clinic holders so you’ll have to vacate it during those times. Other than that there’s the staffroom.’
Carrie glared at him. How was she supposed to work being shifted from pillar to post all the time? ‘I need somewhere without constant interruptions.’
Charlie almost smiled at her, half expecting her to stamp her foot. She was annoyed? Good, she was bugging the hell out of him. She didn’t look so prim and proper any more, he noted with satisfaction. So untouchable. She looked ruffled. Like she wanted to swear.
Her chest rose and fell a little faster, straining the button holding everything together. Her teeth bit into the soft fullness of her lower lip. She looked a little frazzled. A little like last night. She looked touchable. Very touchable.
He shrugged. ‘They’re your choices.’
Some choice. ‘Which one will have the fewest interruptions?’
He snorted. ‘Ever heard of the chaos theory?’
Carrie gripped the handle of her briefcase tighter. ‘Gee, no, I must have been off painting my nails or polishing my tiara the days we discussed that in physics.’
He laughed despite his exasperation. ‘All right, OK, sorry. Well, forget it. This place is chaotic and, trust me, there is no underlying order.’
Carrie waited patiently, hand still on hip, barely resisting the urge to tap her foot. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
Charlie sighed. Whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with her. ‘The staffroom’s your best bet.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you around.’
Carrie stood aside as Charlie brushed past her. She caught a faint whiff of his aftershave and fought the urge to hurry, to keep pace with his long-legged stride. Every sensible cell in her body was telling her to keep her distance. And she was listening.
He was dressed as casually as he’d been last night. Trendy ultra-long shorts that fell just past his knees and another pre-school-inspired T-shirt. Since when had a man’s clothes been so fascinating?
He took her out to the front area first. ‘This is the reception area.’ Charlie checked his watch. ‘Angela should be in soon.’
‘Angela?’
‘She’s the receptionist.’
‘Why isn’t she here already?’
‘She’s a local divorced grandmother who cares for her two grandkids on a permanent basis. She arrives after she’s dropped them at school.’
‘Surely it would be more efficient to have someone here when the clinic first opens?’
Charlie looked down at her. He could see her business brain already writing recommendations. ‘Angela is invaluable. As a single mother yourself, surely you can see the advantage of being flexible?’
Carrie was torn between the emotional answer and the fiscally responsible answer. She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t paid to think emotionally. ‘Flexible isn’t always good for the bottom line.’
Hell, he despised bottom-line thinking. There was no room for people in bottom-line thinking. ‘Wait till you meet her. You’ll understand.’
He moved over towards the games area, not wanting to get into a fruitless discussion with a bottom-liner over their obviously different visions. ‘As you can see, we have a ping-pong table and a pool table, a small library, a lounge area and a jukebox.’
Carrie nodded, picking up a ball off the pool table as she watched the two teenagers she’d seen earlier battling it out at ping-pong. ‘The purpose of these being?’
He eyeballed her. Did he have to explain it? ‘Recreation.’
‘Is it a medical centre’s role to provide recreation?’
Bottom line again? ‘This is a drop-in centre, Carrie. It’s not just about fixing people’s ailments. A large portion of our client base is homeless kids, disaffected youth. If they’re in here, listening to music or shooting pool, then they’re not out on the streets, shooting drugs.’
Drugs? ‘Shouldn’t they be at school?’
Charlie snorted. ‘Of course they should but guess what? Telling them t
hey should be at school generally doesn’t work—their parents have already tried that. Look, we get a lot of community support groups come through the centre every day, talking to the kids that are around, helping them to get their lives together. We can’t do that in a sterile judgmental environment. These are kids who have huge trust issues. We have to provide an environment where they don’t feel judged, where they feel comfortable, where they feel safe. In fact, if I had my way, we’d be expanding the services we offer here. This area is crying out for a properly resourced centre.’
Carrie replaced the pool ball and pondered his statement for a moment. She felt a needle of guilt prick her conscience. He was doing what she’d wanted to do in the beginning. The reason she’d become a doctor in the first place. To help people who couldn’t afford the luxuries that a lot of people took for granted. Like health care. Having grown up poor, she’d always wanted to give something back. Then a child had died because of her negligence and everything had changed. Practising medicine had no longer been an option.
Charlie watched her wander around the lounge area, absently touching furniture, caressing books. Pinstripes? Damn it, this was his fault. He’d been sent the usual ‘please give reason’ letter by the hospital board two months ago. He should have just sent the standard reply, heavy on politics and designed to guilt the suits into backing down.
But this time, with all the uncertainty in his life this past year, he’d been indignant and defiant. He’d not only been scathing of their continual attacks but suggested that they leave him the hell alone to do what he did best.
Watching Carrie’s bottom sway in her pinstriped skirt as she ran her fingers over the jukebox buttons, he wished he hadn’t. His recalcitrance had, no doubt, earned him this surprise audit. In short, he had brought this intrusion on himself. Had brought Carrie and her pinstripes on himself.
‘We have a small treatment room,’ he said, and turned to show her the way. He opened the door, hyper-aware that she was right behind him. ‘I do a lot of stitching up in here.’
Carrie looked at the scrupulously clean white room. The rest of the centre was a bit on the dowdy side. The walls were marked, the furniture had seen better days, the lino flooring was scuffed and worn in places. But this room could have done a hospital proud. From the military neatness of the made-up examination bed to the crisp antiseptic smell, it was a credit to the clinic.