Читать книгу The Midwife's New-found Family - Fiona McArthur - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

OUT of the mist she saw a man and a circle of shells.

Misty Buchanan knew it was the future and not a dream because she’d come to recognise the difference over the years. She hadn’t expected a premonition while beach fishing on this deserted coastline because she’d been so caught up in the pleasure of the salty breeze in her face.

Her sight shimmered and dimmed and she accepted she had no choice but to watch as she closed her eyes …

He balanced on a jumbled spit of rocks beside some seagulls, and even in the haze of time his torso looked spectacular against the backdrop of the ocean as he cradled the bird against him to unwind the twine. She couldn’t see his face but there was something about his concern for the tangled gull that felt familiar on a different level.

When Misty had been younger it had frightened her to see people and situations with such clarity with her eyes shut, but now she accepted it as part of her life, albeit a small part, for only rarely did the future affect her present.

Though this gift brought responsibility with it and her heart thumped with the double-edged sword of what could be revealed.

The bird in his hand was suddenly free and he stepped back out of the way.

Misty frowned as she lost the sight and then the mists cleared again. She drew her breath in sharply.

His head smashed against the rocks as he fell and then his body rolled into a green wave to float without direction away from the rocks.

The vision dissipated and she knew it was useless to attempt to retrieve it. She had been shown all she would be.

Misty spun and her fingers clenched on her beach rod and bucket as she raced towards her Jeep. Once there she tossed them into the back haphazardly as her gaze scanned the distance for clues.

The Southern Queensland beach stretched for miles both ways and each ended with a rocky outcrop into the ocean.

In the distance a flock of gulls soared above a tall white lighthouse that overlooked the water like a guardian.

The visions never came without the opportunity to somehow influence the course of events so she’d have to trust to instinct as she slewed the vehicle with reckless speed through the sand towards the lighthouse.

Misty’s vehicle slid to a halt and she threw open her door. She grabbed the boogie board she kept for belly surfing and the hot sand squeaked in protest as she tore across the beach and onto the grainy boulders of the outcrop. All she could do was pray this was the correct headland.

Her stomach plummeted as she gazed into the choppy green water between the swells. Nothing. It had to be the wrong headland!

As she turned to race back to the car her final glance caught the roll of a long brown arm and then she saw his lifeless body as he slid face down along the back of a wave.

‘Help,’ she muttered unhappily as she looked at the rocks that broke the swells as they drove in.

‘Big breath,’ she encouraged herself out loud, then scrambled inelegantly to the water’s edge and dived into the next wave with the board under her. Her breath sucked in as the cold water splashed around her and dormant resuscitation drills pounded into her mind as she paddled furiously towards her target.

The occasional swell washed over her face and she spat out salty water as she tried to calculate how long he would have been unconscious.

That first touch when she grasped his arm gave her a rush of relief that at least she’d made it out to him. His skin was warm even in the water and she heaved his arm and shoulder over until he rolled half over the board and she could tread water beside him. By default his head rose from the water. She sank below the surface to push his other armpit onto the boogie board and his weight came off her so she could rest.

‘Hello. Wake up. Open your eyes.’ But there was no response when she shook his arm. Twice she blew into his cold lips and twice he didn’t respond.

Another wave washed over both of them, She needed to get him to shore. ‘Stay with me, friend,’ she urged into his ear as she dragged the board around to face the beach. She steered him sideways away from the rocks as the desperate urgency of his condition propelled her through the water faster than she would have dreamed possible.

Twice more she blew into his mouth between swells and then a larger swell closed in on them and she angled the board so that they were lifted swiftly towards the beach. Another big swell carried them until a sudden wave swept them forward and tumbled them in an ungainly pile in the shallow water. She spat out seawater as she twisted on her side to hang onto him.

The wave that had been powerful enough to throw them there seemed intent on proving it could pull them back. He began to slip and she knew she didn’t have the strength to return to the water after him.

‘Come on,’ she gritted out between her teeth, and she yanked him towards her with a desperate heave and he slid across the sand. The wave receded and it was then she noticed the tiny rivulets of his blood that went with it.

Her heart pounded noisily in her ears as she dragged in welcome air before she rolled him over and pulled him an extra foot away from the reach of the next wave.

His eyes were open, blue like his lips, and his white face was as unmoving as his chest as the water drained away from around him.

It was too late!

She bent to lay her ear against his battered chest. Thump… Thump… Thump… She could hear it. He had a heartbeat. It was slow, less than forty beats a minute probably, but so much better than no heartbeat at all.

She pushed him until he rolled onto his side and water trickled from his mouth, but he didn’t move.

She shook him and he rolled back onto his back. ‘Hey. Wake up, you!’ Misty tilted his head and after a quick glance to check his airway was clear she breathed another two quick breaths into his lungs as she watched his chest rise. Yes. Out of the water now she could tell there was chest movement.

She pushed rhythmically on the lower third of his sternum to compress his ribcage and prayed cardiac massage would speed his sluggish heart. Thirty quick depressions, then Misty pinched his nose and blew into his mouth again.

After several desperate cycles he twitched and finally stirred, his chest moved of its own volition, and he gurgled a bubbling stream of sea water as he instinctively rolled onto his side.

Misty sat back and drew deep panting breaths of her own as the stranger coughed and wheezed his way to life.

Her shoulders began to shake in earnest and she wrapped her arms around her chest in comfort as she stared down at him. Hot tears trickled unchecked down her cheeks along with a strangled sob of mixed euphoria and horror. She sucked in a big breath to calm herself and squeezed her arms around her body harder.

Focus. Don’t fall to pieces yet. She could hardly believe it.

He was alive.

She glanced out at the ocean in incredulity and her pretty pink boogie board bobbed merrily in the swells as it drifted out to sea.

She’d done it.

She glanced down at the broken strap on her wrist and strained to remember when it had sheared.

Who cared? Someone would enjoy the board.

Ben Moore hovered in a beam of light and stared down at his body as it floated in the water. He dreamed in flashes that defined his life.

Each flash contained an ocean of memories. His daughter’s birth, his wife’s death, a patient’s family hugging him, a baby’s first breath, a mermaid with long auburn hair and green eyes holding out her hand.

He smiled at her beauty. He was definitely dying. Something jolted him and he felt himself fall.

The other pictures faded away until only her vivid emerald eyes remained, and they came closer as she kissed him. Then he was coughing and retching and reality crashed in on him along with the fire in his lungs and the pain in his pounding head.

When the fit settled he took another tearing breath and hoped to avoid the painful mix of seawater and air, but it was not to be. When that convulsion died down he eased his shoulders from the gritty sand on which he was lying and ran his hands over his lacerated chest.

The surging waves lapped his feet and above him knelt the mermaid in person—except she had the most beautiful thighs in tattered denim shorts and long gorgeous legs—definitely not a mermaid, he thought fuzzily.

He glanced at her fine boned arms and the slender frame that was clearly outlined in the singlet top plastered to her skin. How on earth had she dragged him above the level of the waves?

As if she knew what he was thinking her voice washed over him, warm and reassuring, and the fact that he could hear the sound from her lips meant he really had survived.

‘We rode a wave in and I pulled you the rest of the way,’ she said. ‘You’ve hit your head and torn your skin on the rocks.’

Her long red hair was tied in a limp ponytail that dripped silver rivulets of seawater between her breasts and she flipped it over to her back, which helped the thin singlet to plaster itself to her breasts even more.

He sucked his breath in with disastrous results and, when that spasm passed, the air in his lungs finally began to feel less like lava and more like the cooler gravel he needed to survive. ‘Thank you.’ His cracked words finally emerged.

He inhaled gingerly again. ‘What happened?’ Amazing how much energy just a few words took.

‘Don’t talk yet.’ She winced at his obvious discomfort and her hand slid down over his wrist, smooth and cool and very practised as she palpated his pulse. ‘I guess you fell into the water and hit your head. You nearly drowned.’

She was looking at him as if he might not understand but he understood all right. She’d saved his life and put her own very much at risk to do it.

He just couldn’t think of anything to say at that moment.

She went on and he closed his eyes as he listened to her talk more to herself than to him. ‘I need to get you to a hospital for observation. Salt water can cause delayed pulmonary oedema in your lungs.’

He’d have to move or she’d think he couldn’t and he didn’t want her having to spend more energy than she already had on him. He eased himself into a sitting position but even that hurt.

Ben rocked his head gently and couldn’t help the tiny groan that escaped at the pain from his skull. It hurt like hell but he didn’t need a hospital. He needed his bed.

‘Thank you.’ He paused for breath. ‘Just my shack.’ He paused again. ‘I’ll be fine.’

He watched her roll her eyes and it amused him in a ridiculous, semi-hysterical way. No doubt it was the euphoria of having been snatched from the jaws of death.

‘You need a good check-up,’ she said. ‘Does your head swim?’

He put his hand up for her to grasp so he could stand. ‘Better than my body does when I’m knocked out, apparently.’

‘A joker,’ she muttered. ‘Just what I need.’ Misty took his hand and shared his weight as he rose, but still he swayed against her before he could steady himself, and she knew he was hanging on to his balance by sheer willpower.

The feel of his strong hand left hers bizarrely energised and she looked down at his fingers curled around her own. She frowned at the strangeness of a connection that shouldn’t even have registered then shrugged the thought away. At this moment she needed to help him stagger to her vehicle and that was enough to contend with.

When at last she had him there she didn’t like the way his head lolled against the seat as if he could barely support its weight.

‘You OK?’ she asked as she reached across and buckled his seat belt.

He mumbled something she didn’t catch and Misty stared anxiously into his shadowed face as she leaned back into her own seat. The strong line of his jaw and angled cheeks were softened by the fact he hadn’t shaved that day. Funny how that darkened stubble in no way detracted from his rugged good looks. He’d become even more attractive with the passing of time. Even more attractive? Ouch! Mind on job, she admonished herself silently.

That was if he survived. ‘Hello? Wake up.’ She rested her hand on his damp shoulder. ‘I need directions if you want me to take you home.’

She was definitely having second thoughts about leaving him alone in a beach house to die. If he started to look worse than he did now she’d ring her brother at Lyrebird Lake and ask what to do, even thoughAndy’s hospital was hours away, his advice would help.

‘I’m sorry.’ He didn’t open his eyes but his apology emerged clearly this time and she felt the building tension ease from the tautness in her neck.

He paused as if it hurt to talk, and she realised it probably did.

‘Name’s Ben Moore. My beach house.’ He paused again. ‘There’s a side road past the camping ground on the left.’ Without opening his eyes, he said, ‘You can drive around the gate instead of opening it.’ He coughed again. ‘The shack’s about two kilometres along.’

Benmore. ‘Like the beautiful gardens in Scotland?’ She asked absently as she steered the vehicle across the sand. He didn’t answer.

Misty concentrated on navigating the thick sand of the track onto the road and even then her four-wheel-drive slewed sideways over the mounds made by other off-road vehicles.

Once she hit the hard dirt the noise from the tyres reverberated through the cab. She’d have to remember to fill them with air when she passed the next gas station but the deflation had made a huge difference in the soft sand.

She turned her Jeep left at the campsite, spotted the entrance he’d mentioned, and drove around the locked gate onto another dirt road. She’d had no idea the track was there and it wound through the seaside scrub parallel to the beach until they climbed a grass-covered knoll.

On top and surrounded by smaller sand dunes stood a solid beach house made of sand-coloured wood. Because of the height of the knoll it overlooked the beach in both directions and tufts of coarse beach grass and wind-bent coastal shrubs ringed it.

The house was sturdily built on stilts and a lot larger than Misty’s idea of a shack. A wide, shaded veranda looked out over the vista below and she parked the car in the shade beside a late model Range Rover and some steep steps.

Ben’s eyes were still shut and she touched his arm. ‘Will you be able to get inside, Ben?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, and his eyes opened slowly to reveal the aqua irises she’d only glimpsed at the beach. His next words made her smile.

‘You OK?’ His concern was sweet but unfortunately the brightness of his eyes made his pale cheeks even more concerning.

‘I’ll be better when you have a bit of colour in your face.’ She shivered and the memory of him floating face down in the water hit her. How she’d almost been unable to hold him before the wave dragged them back made her shake her head.

She recalled those vital few seconds when he’d not been breathing and she’d urged him to wake up, and then he’d moved and coughed as he returned to life.

She still couldn’t believe she’d managed it. This flesh-and-blood, breathing human being would be dead if she hadn’t been there. That thought left her with a deep nausea that rose out of nowhere and couldn’t be denied.

‘Excuse me,’ she gulped, and wrenched open her door to throw herself on the ground where at least she was out of sight to be ingloriously sick.

‘I’m sorry.’ Soft words full of self-reproach floated around her as Ben appeared beside her, He scooped her ponytail from her face and held it behind her head while she completed the job. For the moment she was too unwell to care.

‘Poor brave mermaid,’ he said soothingly, and his warm hand cupped her forehead in comfort. She could feel the prick of tears in her eyes as the nausea passed. She wasn’t brave. She’d been terrified.

‘I’m sorry.’ She allowed him to help her to her feet and then she backed away from him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and schooled any expression from her face. Weakness in front of this man made her feel like a self-conscious teenager and she was supposed to be in charge.

She banished any thought of what had just happened and changed the subject. ‘I’m supposed to be nursing you.’

‘I’m fine.’ When she didn’t look convinced he shrugged and gestured wearily to the stairs. ‘You can check me out now you’re feeling better.’

She could see he’d shifted his concern from himself to her and she felt the undeniable pull that shimmered around Ben as if her heart was telling her something her head had to disbelieve.

‘Come with me,’ he said, and the cadence, those simple words, caught her heart as his long fingers caught her other hand.

There it was. That recognition she’d noticed before. It was as if his whole arm pulled her along not so much by his strength but by magnetic attraction between them that shouldn’t be there.

Weakly, with her inner voice quietly insisting she leave, she followed him up the steps and into his house. She’d just see that he was OK.