Читать книгу The Surgeon's Special Delivery - Fiona Lowe, Fiona Lowe - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

‘DOCTOR, I have bad news.’

Callum Halroyd’s talented hands stilled on the mess that had until an hour ago been a young man’s leg, but that had been before a mortar had shattered it into pulp. This was Cal’s fifth operation since dawn and the sun had only just hit its highest point. As an experienced surgeon with Frontline Aid, and with the muffled explosions of war sounding in the distance, he was pretty certain he’d still be operating when dusk had disappeared into darkness.

He glanced up over the top of his surgical mask, his mouth twitching into a smile. He always smiled when he saw Jenny Patton. An experienced Frontline nurse, she had the typical dry Australian wit that described every situation in ironic understatement. ‘Don’t tell me, we’ve run out of coffee.’

Fully scrubbed, she walked over to him, her usually laughing hazel eyes strangely sombre. ‘The coffee supply is safe.’

‘That’s good to know.’ But a streak of cold shot through him quickly, its tendrils remaining, hovering like mist. He shrugged off the feeling and blasted a bleeding capillary with heat from the diathermy.

She stepped in next to him, dextrously applying suction to keep the bloodied area clear. ‘Jenson Armand’s scrubbing in for you. He’s just gloving up now.’

The quipping Jenny had vanished. The cold started to circle his heart. ‘What the hell for? I have more vascular experience than he does.’ He thrust out his hand. ‘More packs.’ The words shot from his mouth more like a command than a request as he tried to push his mounting unease aside.

Jenny handed him the gauze, her gaze seeking his. ‘I’m really sorry, Cal, there’s no easy way to tell you this.’ She sighed out a long breath before breathing in deeply. ‘We’ve just heard from Australia. Your brother, James, he was in an accident and he’s…’

The circling cold turned into an icy grip, snatching at his heart. ‘He’s what?’

She blinked rapidly. ‘He died yesterday, along with his wife. You need to go home. I’ve got you on a helicopter out of here to connect with an international flight. You leave in thirty minutes.’

The roar of blood in his head instantly drowned out the sounds of gunfire. His hands shook as he deftly created a stump for a future prosthesis.

James was dead. His brain struggled to come to terms with the fact that his twin brother no longer lived.

‘You’ll be home in twenty-four hours,’ Jenny reassured him. ‘Your parents will meet you at Melbourne Airport.’

Home. He shook his head. At some point in the last few years Australia had ceased to be home. Instead, it had become a place to visit on holidays, and now it was calling him back for a funeral. He wasn’t sure Australia could ever be home again.

* * *

Tess wandered around Carolyn and James’s strangely quiet house, desperately missing the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the hum of Carolyn’s sewing machine and the happy off-key whistle that meant James was close at hand. Blinking back tears, she sat down hard on the couch and cradled her very pregnant belly. ‘Oh, baby boy, life is so not fair.’

She knew all about ‘not fair’ but she’d hoped this child wouldn’t have to experience it. Leaning back into the soft cushions, she tried to marshal her chaotic thoughts as fatigue broke over her like surf. The outback township of Narranbool had ground to a halt, united in its grief for its beloved GP and his talented wife Carolyn, who had dressed them so stylishly for weddings, debuts, the Narranbool Cup and every other social occasion in between. No matter what their height, weight or proportions, Carolyn’s skill had been making everyone look and feel gorgeous.

Tomorrow’s funeral had been organised from Melbourne by James’s family, but the town had taken control of the wake, needing to show their love and appreciation for two very special people. Tess knew that in true country style grief would be well fed with cream sponges, pavlova, asparagus rolls and tea.

She rubbed her belly as Oscar kicked hard against her hand. Carolyn had no known relatives, but James had parents. Parents who didn’t yet know about their unborn grandson.

Tess had to tell them but had balked at doing it over the phone. Hi, I’m Tess. You don’t know me and by the way I’m pregnant with your grandson but I’m not the biological mother. No, it was something she had to do in person when the Halroyds arrived in town. She’d do it tomorrow, immediately after the funeral.

Organised…by James’s family. Being organised by James’s family was something she was going to have to deal with. A long sigh shuddered out of her lungs as she tried to give herself a pep talk. Giving up Oscar to his grandparents was no different from giving him up to Carolyn and James.

Yes it is! A traitorous thought that had been gaining volume for two days thundered inside her head.

Pulling herself together, she stared it down hard.

For two days she’d experienced fantasy moments of pretending that Oscar was her own baby. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was a Halroyd and she couldn’t deny Oscar his birthright. She knew what it was like to grow up without a family. She was intimate with that sense of needing to belong to someone and never having that need filled.

Carolyn and James had been her family for three short years but now they were gone. Their child grew inside her belly, but as a surrogate she had to give him up to his biological family, severing the last connection she had with her dearest friends. Perhaps severing the connection with a child she’d expected to watch grow up and have over for sleepovers. She would fight to stay in touch but what real claim did she have?

Her fragile cocoon of happiness, spun over the last year, had splintered into jagged shards the moment the road train had ploughed headlong into James and Carolyn’s car.

Her throat tightened for the hundredth time that day and she blew out a long breath. Thankfully, dealing with the Halroyds was another sixteen hours away. Far enough away to pretend it might not happen, that Oscar could still be hers. ‘Tomorrow never comes, right, mate?’ She patted Oscar’s kicking foot, deluding herself a bit longer.

She needed a strong drink but she couldn’t have one so Tim Tams would have to do. Hauling herself off of the couch, she waddled through the now dark house into the kitchen. Moonlight filtered through the window while she filled the kettle, the darkness unable to dent the late summer heat that hung torpidly over everything. As she flicked off the tap, the outside sensor lamp burst into light, illuminating the back entrance.

‘Hey, BJ, are you hungry?’ Tess glanced at the cat door, expecting Carolyn’s stately black and white cat to step through and give her his usual disdainful look.

The flap stayed perfectly still.

The scrape of a key in the lock sent a prickle of alarm scudding through her. No one else had a key. Who could possibly be coming into the house? With her heart pounding hard against her ribs, she reached for the knife block with one hand and the phone with the other.

The back door partially opened and with an indignant miaow the cat shot into the kitchen as if he’d been stepped on.

‘Bloody cat.’ A deep voice sounded against the clatter of keys hitting the concrete step.

Tess stifled a scream and immediately dropped the phone. Grabbing the torch from the bench, she pressed down the black switch and swung it wildly toward the door.

‘Don’t take another step!’ Tess’s voice sounded far more in control than she felt.

The door opened fully, revealing a tall man whose broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway. He immediately put his hand up to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the brilliant light of the torch. His other hand groped the architrave, his long, lean fingers finding and pressing the white plastic light switch as if he had prior knowledge of the house. Light flooded the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

His baritone voice rolled around her, smooth and soothing, like Swiss chocolate melting on her tongue. ‘Haven’t you heard of a doorbell?’ Tess’s hand shook and the torchlight bounced around, now overcome by the main light.

His lips formed a tight smile, exhaustion lining the deep brackets around his mouth. ‘I assumed the house was empty.’

Piercing grey eyes ringed with thick, long lashes caught her gaze, sending a wave of unexpected heat thudding through her. Her heart jumped into her throat as confusion clawed at her, and her brain shot into overdrive, trying to make sense of it all. Surely the real-estate agents weren’t dealing with the estate already? And if he was an agent, he wasn’t from Narranbool because she knew Collin Smithon well. Yet there was an air of familiarity about him.

She pulled herself up to her full height of five feet eleven and tried to look imposing and in command despite being eight and a half months pregnant. Dusting off her imperious doctor’s voice, which she hadn’t used in a long time, she straightened her shoulders. ‘Who are you and why do you have a key?’

He tilted his head to the side, the light picking up streaks of silver in his jet-black hair. His high cheekbones carried the gauntness of fatigue and black stubble lined his strong jaw, giving him a renegade look. For the second time in as many minutes his gaze zeroed in on her as if he was seeing past her face and down into her essence, the place she kept hidden away. Goosebumps tangoed with sweat as hot and cold simultaneously raced through her.

He didn’t move from the doorway but his innate aura of command radiated through his posture and his voice. ‘I’m Callum Halroyd. Who are you and why are you in my brother’s house?’

Tess stared in disbelief at the man she’d heard scant mention of and had never met. Blood rushed from her head as her last window of make-believe vanished before her eyes. Tomorrow had just arrived.

* * *

Cal gazed at the heavily pregnant woman in front of him and watched the blood drain from her elfin face. Hell, he’d scared the living daylights out of her. Striding into the kitchen, he pulled out a chair. ‘Perhaps you should sit down.’

The woman stayed where she was, swaying slightly, her hand curled tightly around the turn of the bench.

Damn it, the last thing he needed after a twenty-four-hour flight, ninety minutes in a helicopter and a heart-breaking time with his aging and grief-stricken parents, was a pregnant woman fainting on him. He moved slowly toward her, his palms open in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Please, you really do need to sit down.’ He gently put his hand over hers, planning to release her fingers so he could guide her into the chair.

An unexpected blast of heat burst through him as his palm connected with the back of her hand. That was strange and unexpected. Jet-lag and grief had obviously affected his body’s thermostat.

She quickly pulled her hand out from under his. ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine once I sit down.’

As she turned toward the proffered chair, strands of short honey-blonde hair swept across his cheek, trailing a scent of fresh coconut and tropical fruits. He had the craziest desire to close his eyes and breathe in deeply to banish the scent of war and pain that had taken up residence without him realising it.

He gave himself a shake and quickly filled a glass with water.

She spoke softly. ‘So you’re James’s brother?’

‘Yes, I think we established that.’ He offered the glass to the unknown woman. ‘And you are…?’

She accepted the glass with her left hand and he realised she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Still, pregnant women often had to remove their rings due to fluid accumulation so that meant very little.

Wide brown eyes appraised him while she slowly sipped her water, the action disconcerting him. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. He was a surgeon—he called the shots and everyone else jumped.

She lowered her glass and placed it on the bench, before reaching out and touching his arm. ‘I’m so very sorry for your loss.’

My loss. He rubbed his forehead, rubbing the ache that had permanently throbbed since he’d heard the news.

‘James and Carolyn were my dearest friends and I’ve been staying with them for a few months while…’ She blinked rapidly.

He stifled a sigh. Typical James. He took in waifs and strays and Carolyn actively encouraged him. Now, as well as sorting out the estate, he had a pregnant, homeless woman on his hands. Yet another thing for him to organise as there was no way his parents were up to it.

He’d hardly recognised them at the airport. It was like they’d had the stuffing knocked out of them. Normally sheer energy and drive radiated from both of them, the characteristics that had made them millions from self-storage. But his usually in-control father had deferred every decision to Cal and his mother had just sat stoically silent, holding her husband’s hand.

He cleared his throat. ‘What about a cup of tea? God knows, I need one.’

A quiet smile stole across her heart-shaped face. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. White, no sugar, please. The tea’s in the canister by the kettle.’

‘And I remember that three years ago the cups were kept in the cupboard over the sink.’

She nodded. ‘They’re still there.’

He plugged in the kettle and spied the partially opened Tim Tams. He smiled at the memory of the luscious chocolate biscuit that his mother would allow to celebrate gold stars on homework. ‘I haven’t had a Tim Tam in years.’

She arched her eyebrows in mock horror. ‘Why on earth not? They’re the panacea for all ills.’

He heard himself laugh and a kernel of feeling other than sorrow opened up inside him. ‘I haven’t been living in places where supermarkets stock them. Actually, I haven’t been living in places with supermarkets, full stop.’ The kettle shut off and he poured the boiling water over the fragrant leaves.

‘Where have you come from?’

He caught her gaze on his rumpled clothes. ‘Africa.’

She smiled, her eyes taking on the warm hues of polished oak. ‘James said you were busy saving the world.’

His hand tightened on the handle of the teapot as he poured the aromatic brew into fine, white cups, her words bringing back the last fraught conversation he and James had shared over three years ago. He didn’t want to think about that. Not now.

‘Well, I don’t know about saving the world but I work for Frontline Aid. I go where I’m needed.’

‘And now you’re needed here.’ She ran her hand over her swollen belly, in a caress than radiated love.

A sense of unease that he couldn’t explain burrowed into him, pushing deep. ‘I’m just here for the funeral and to help execute the will, although one of Dad’s company lawyers can handle most of it. That’s why I left Mum and Dad at the motel and came over to the house tonight. I need to find James’s will and get the ball rolling.’ He placed her steaming cup on the bench next to her.

She bit her lip, as her high forehead creased in thought. ‘So once you’ve seen to that, you’ll leave? What about your parents?’

He frowned, not liking her accusatory tone. She surely had enough to worry about with her own situation without judging him. ‘I’ll certainly spend some time with my parents but they understand my work is overseas.’

She traced the handle of her cup with her forefinger. ‘So there’s nothing to keep you here?’

‘In Narranbool?’ He laughed, unable to hide his derision. ‘Not bloody likely.’ Narranbool with its heat, dust and shrivelled wheat crops had been James’s choice—one he himself had never understood.

Her shoulders stiffened and her chin tilted up as she shot him a look that reminded him so much of James and Carolyn that she could have been channelling them.

Contrition niggled at him and he sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but small country towns and I are not a match. In fact, Australia and I are no longer a match, and I’m not sure we ever really were. For as long as I can remember I’ve looked beyond this “wide brown land”, I’m an expat through and through.’

She nodded slowly and then grazed her plump bottom lip with her top teeth.

Try as he may to pull his gaze away, it stayed riveted on the moist lushness. What would those rosy lips taste like?

The random thought shocked him. It was official—exhaustion had made him lose control of all common sense. He was a world-renowned trauma surgeon. He didn’t lust after homeless, pregnant women.

She sipped her tea, her expression thoughtful. ‘What if you had a nephew—would you stay then?’

Surely her child wasn’t James’s? He immediately shook away the uncharitable thought. His brother had loved his wife dearly, so much, in fact, that he’d given up plenty to be with her. No, this woman in front of him was pregnant by someone else, homeless and distraught from the shock of losing her philanthropists, which was why she was making no sense at all.

He leaned forward, talking slowly as if he was explaining complicated surgery in layman’s terms. ‘James and Carolyn couldn’t have and didn’t have any children. Now, as my twin and only sibling is dead, the chances of me being an uncle are impossible.’

She folded her hands on top of her belly and calm serenity washed over her. ‘James and Carolyn have a child.’

His head pounded. The urge to dismiss her words as irrational ramblings couldn’t still the disquiet, which grew like a tumour pressing on his chest. ‘That’s impossible. I would have known, he would have told me, my parents would have told me.’

She sat in front of him completely unruffled. ‘They don’t know yet. I was going to tell them tomorrow when I met them.’

Her quiet yet determined words blasted into him as the floor seemed to fall away from under his feet and the world tilted despite him being seated. He struggled to make sense of it all. ‘Who are you really?’

‘I’m Dr Tess Dalton, the surrogate mother of James’s and Carolyn’s son.’