Читать книгу The Doctor, His Daughter And Me - Leonie Knight - Страница 10

PART of the reason for Tara’s decision to share a meal with Ryan was because over the last two weeks, since he’d catapulted back into her life, she’d been thinking about him constantly. She also had some questions she needed answering, and it wasn’t the sort of discussion that could take place in the lunch room at the clinic.

Her all-consuming concern was … why?

Why was he back when she’d worked so hard to make her life as good as it could be without him?

Why had he accepted a job in Keysdale when he could choose any job he wanted?

Why had he married, fathered a child and then divorced a few short years later?

And the last question she could only answer herself—why did she care so much when she’d thought she was well and truly over him?

She tried to rationalise by telling herself it was perfectly reasonable that she held a gnawing suspicion about his motives. But were those emotions that were surfacing from another time in her life an indication she still had feelings for her ex-husband?

It scared her.

She was also annoyed that her balanced, well-ordered world was beginning to tilt on its axis a little. Her life was complicated enough as it was and she didn’t need any more problems.

To clear the air she definitely needed to at least talk to Ryan, so she could clarify her own feelings. All she knew now was that the man sitting next to her with a genuine smile on his face, had forced her to revisit a time when she’d been married to the only man she’d truly loved. While he’d been married to a stranger, settled more than two hundred kilometres away and living the life she’d always hoped he’d have, she’d overcome the pain and uncertainty of wondering if he sincerely believed, as he’d told her a hundred times after the accident, she was more important than anything else in his life.

Ryan cleared his throat as he opened the car door and she wondered if he’d been watching her.

‘I’ll get your chair and then I’ll unload all my stuff.’

‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, forcing a smile.

Ryan was a quick learner. In just a few minutes he had the chair where she could easily transfer into it and was rummaging in the back of the car, unpacking his bags and boxes.

‘Would you mind carrying the food?’

‘Fine.’ He definitely did learn fast, and was doing his best not to make a big thing of what Tara couldn’t do and focusing on what she could.

After locking the vehicle, Tara propelled herself to the small entry of Ryan’s unit and waited while he unlocked the door, went inside and turned on the lights. She cast a quick glance around the compact living-dining area and noted that her host was obviously not expecting guests. The small desk in one corner was littered with papers and a large overnight bag decorated the single settee. She could see jeans and a couple of tee shirts strewn on the bed, with a cup and a juice box sitting on the bedside table. At least the bathroom door was closed. She didn’t want to conjure up any thoughts of Ryan that tipped outside the boundaries she’d decided to impose for any contact outside work.

‘Sorry about the mess.’

Ryan’s clichéd reply brought a small smile to Tara’s face. He’d always been messy.

Ryan put the food in the kitchen, stowed the rest of his gear in the bedroom and closed the door. He was staring at her intently.

‘What’s so amusing?’

Damn. She’d let her guard down. She restored what she hoped was a neutral expression. The last thing she wanted to do was to tell Ryan her thoughts.

‘Nothing at all. However, I should ring my parents and let them know I’ll be home late.

‘Yes, of course you must. I’ll go and get changed while you do and then we’ll eat.’

Tara watched him disappear into the bedroom and sighed, hoping she’d have the courage to start to put her life back on course. She rang her parents’ number.

As Ryan pulled on a pair of jeans and a crumpled polo shirt a jumble of thoughts he’d previously managed to suppress scuttled through his mind.

Thoughts of the past.

He now realised that his years with Tara had been the best of his life, but she’d changed; her body had changed. Ryan knew it shouldn’t make any difference but it did. Although his feelings for her were strong, Tara was guarded and cautious around him. He didn’t seem to be able to get it right—the balance between friendly helpfulness and the undeniable protectiveness he felt for her. She seemed to want to be treated only as a colleague, but he couldn’t ignore their past.

He was responsible for the way things were now. The thought kept flashing in his mind like a neon sign that wouldn’t go away.

It added to his remorse.

In the end, he decided to let the evening chart its own course and he’d suffer any consequences. After all, it was unlikely they’d have the opportunity to spend much time together at work. Already he had a good idea he’d have little spare time to socialise during the couple of days he spent each week at Keysdale. In fact he’d been prepared for a knock-back when he’d asked Tara to share a meal with him.

Tara … She was rapidly turning into an enigma. He remembered how self-contained she’d been when he’d watched her get in her car and drive away without any idea he was in the car park on that Friday afternoon a couple of weeks ago. But he’d also seen traces of anxiety mixed with vulnerability during the brief contacts he’d had with her since. His natural instinct was to offer to help, but her independence stood firm as a barrier to his good intentions. He took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. Tara had moved his bag and settled herself in one corner of the settee.

She glanced at him, blushed and then focused on the bags on the kitchen bench. She was more ill at ease than he was.

‘The food smells delicious.’

Small talk was definitely a good idea.

‘They seem like pretty high-quality leftovers. I hope you don’t mind?’ Ryan stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next. He began unpacking the food.

‘Of course not.’ She scrutinised every dish.

‘Are you happy to eat now?’

‘I don’t mind. Whatever you want to do.’

Tension buzzed in the air. It was almost as if they were on a first date.

‘I somehow managed to miss out on lunch and I’m starving.’ He cleared his throat. ‘My brain functions better on a full stomach.’

He began to lay out two place settings on the tiny kitchen gate-leg table, but then realised there would be more room on the coffee table.

‘I’ll spread the food out here. There’s much more space and we can serve ourselves.’

‘Yes, that’s a sensible idea. I’m hungry.’ She paused a moment, then smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind women with hearty appetites.’

Ryan couldn’t help doing a quick appraisal and it reinforced his first impressions. He was pleased with what he saw. Tara wore trousers and a tailored shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing a hint of cleavage which he hadn’t noticed earlier in the day. Her upper body was lean and well toned. He imagined she exercised regularly to keep in shape.

She was an attractive woman … and very sexy.

His heart thudded uncomfortably at the realisation. Sex had been an important and joyous part of their relationship. Making love with Tara had always been a deeply sensual experience—he smiled—laced with a unique sense of fun that he’d never experienced with his second wife, Shannay. With the benefit of hindsight and the lingering pain of a second divorce, he realised his feelings for his second wife had been based on a blinding infatuation, probably arising from a need to escape his grief.

There was no hint Tara had any similar feeling towards him, though. She was looking at him impatiently, waiting for his reply.

‘No, definitely not,’ he said at last.

Once the food was set out they both loaded their plates and ate their fill.

When Tara put her empty plate on the table, Ryan cleared the dishes and left them on the sink to deal with later.

He sat down next to Tara.

‘So tell me about your patient.’ It was neutral territory and unlikely to open any old wounds.

‘Yes, of course.’

Focusing on something other than Ryan was exactly what Tara needed.

Reaching over to her wheelchair, where she’d left her bag, she extracted Pippa Morgan’s file. She opened volume two to the section containing test results, investigation reports and specialist letters.

‘Do you want a recap on her history?’

Ryan nodded. ‘Good idea,’ he said.

Tara repeated what she’d told Ryan earlier—that the teenager had suffered from the painful and debilitating condition of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis since early childhood, and that her joints had degenerated to the point where her specialist was considering the possibility of surgery to relieve the increasingly severe pain in her right hip.