Читать книгу Waking Up With His Runaway Bride - Louisa George, Louisa George - Страница 6

TO MIM’S infinite irritation, Connor appeared unfazed by her barbed comment. He stared her down, then shook out of his jacket and rolled his Italian cotton shirtsleeves up. Sparks flew from his onyx eyes.

‘Mim, you never worried about getting down and dirty before. What’s changed? Frightened you might get burnt?’ He threw the jacket onto the desk. ‘I’m not going to sit back while there’s a major incident unfolding. I’ll go up there and see if I can help.’

‘What are you going to do? Waft the fire out with your questionnaire?’

He visibly bristled but the sensual flare in his eyes spelled trouble. Connor had always loved sparring with her. Said she was the most fiery woman he’d ever met. That it was the biggest turn-on ever. Some things hadn’t changed. He smiled confidently, inviting more. Seemed they couldn’t help firing incendiary shots back and forth even after three years. ‘It would work better than all that hot air you’re generating.’

‘You haven’t changed a jot, Connor Wiseman. Still as bloody-minded as ever. But right now I’m sure the firefighters don’t need a do-gooder city slicker hindering their work.’

She walked up the corridor, sucked in a breath and tried to concentrate on one disaster at a time. Priority: bush fire. Lives at risk. And he followed, clearly undeterred.

She stopped in Reception and explained to him, ‘There’s a campsite not far from Two Rivers. It’s been a long, dry summer and the bush is brittle. A fire could get out of hand pretty quickly. As I’m community warden, and the only med centre for miles, protocol states they bring the injured here. It’s safer and out of the line of fire.’

Protocol. He’d like that.

‘So we stay here for now. You’ll need all the help you can get.’

‘We need to be ready. Dressing packs and oxygen cylinders are in the treatment rooms, there’s labels on the drawers and shelves. It should be self-explanatory.’ She paused as sirens screeched past the surgery towards the new development.

Time hadn’t diminished his bombastic streak. Connor still went hell for leather along his own path without taking much notice of what anyone else had to say. But he was right, she didn’t have the luxury of turning away another pair of skilled hands in an emergency.

‘We also have a walk-in clinic running at the moment, which is always busy Monday mornings. Sure you can handle this, city boy? Things could get messy.’

To her surprise, his smile widened. Irritating and frustratingly appealing all at the same time. He stepped closer, his breath grazing her neck. Making the hairs on her neck prickle to attention.

‘Is that a threat, Mim? Or a promise?’

‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep.’ The words tumbled out before she could stop herself. He’d got her hackles up. Just having him there threw her way off balance.

He arched an eyebrow. All the raw, potent tension, zinging between them like electricity, coming to a head. ‘Oh, really? Tell that to my parents and the caterers and the party guests.’

‘I didn’t ask for an engagement party. Once your mum got a whiff of the idea she ran with it.’

‘Okay. Let’s clear the air, then we can focus on what’s important.’ He breathed out deeply, put his palms flat on the desk. ‘My mum was trying to help. Then you ditched. It was a long time ago and I’m over it. No second chances, like you always said. Never look back. Great philosophy. You missed the boat, princess. Don’t blame me if you didn’t know a good thing when you saw it.’

‘I knew it wasn’t for me.’

But it had been a very good thing. Until she’d had to make impossible choices. Atanga Bay or Auckland. Break the promises she’d made to her mother or to Connor? ‘And I made the right decision. You’re doing well. And I’m happy here.’

‘But obviously you’re still bothered about it. Embarrassed perhaps? Regretful? Don’t they say that the first form of defence is attack?’

The smell of his aftershave washed around her. The same as he’d worn back then. Leather and spice and earthy man. Throwing her back to their long, lazy afternoons in bed. When they’d believed their dreams were possible. Before she’d been bamboozled into a life she hadn’t wanted.

Her hackles stood to attention again. At the same time her stomach somersaulted at the memory of kissing his lips and the way he had tasted. Ozone and chardonnay, cinnamon whirls and coffee. Connor. And how once she’d started to kiss him she’d never wanted to stop. She shook her head in despair. Memories were not helpful.

‘Our relationship ran its course. I’m not sore or embarrassed, and I’m not trying to attack you. I’m sorry if it came over that way.’

‘Want a little advice? Seems you need me more than I need you right now. You have an assessment hanging over your head and an emergency. And I could walk out that door and never look back. But I don’t think you need that, right? So maybe if you want my help, you could try being civil.’

She turned away and swallowed hard. He was right. In a cruel twist of fate, he was her only hope. Civil it had to be.

Mercifully the door swung open before she could answer, and four men limped in. Their faces were streaked with black and their clothes singed. Hard hats and heavy work boots were left at the door.

‘Okay, gentlemen. Take a breath.’ Mim sat them down in Reception, gave them all a fleeting assessment. Triaging four injured construction workers was way more in her comfort zone than needling an old flame.

‘What’s the story, Tony?’ She nodded at the foreman, a local and friend, knowing he’d have the details covered.

‘A gas cylinder blew, hit a couple of the lads square in the face—they’ve been airlifted to Auckland General. There’s a fire burning out of control on the site.’ He coughed long and hard, then pointed to his pals. ‘This motley crew are mainly smoke inhalation, a few cuts and bruises, and I reckon Boy here’s got a broken finger from falling over. Daft coot. Never seen anyone away run so fast. Or fall so hard.’

Connor stepped into the fray. ‘Okay. Tony? You come with me, sounds like you could do with some oxygen to help clear those lungs. Boy, you go with Mim. Skye, take the other two through to Treatment Room Two.’

‘And you are?’ Tony stood and faced Connor, his face grim beneath the soot.

Just great. Mim’s heart plummeted. For the last few months Tony had been playing suitor, quietly. Little gestures, the odd interested phrase. Dinner for two at the pub. She’d let him down gently as soon as she’d realised his intentions were more than just friendly.

It wasn’t just that she didn’t fancy him, but she’d sworn off men. Men wanted her to need them. To rely on them. She couldn’t. She hated the thought of losing control over anything—particularly her emotions.

She stepped in, tried to infuse her voice with a quiet plea for calm. Tony was hot-headed at the best of times and obviously stressed. ‘Tony, this is Connor Wiseman. He’s that assessor I told you about. He’s going to be here for a while, on and off. He’s also a doctor and is keen to help out.’

‘Okay. Connor. A word of warning, mate.’ Tony stuck his hand out. ‘Our Mim doesn’t take too kindly to being told what to do.’

‘Believe me, I know. I’ve still got the scars.’ Our Mim. Connor squared his shoulders and gripped the man’s hand. Clearly Tony and Mim were more than well acquainted. The man had possession written all over his sooty face. And the way Mim looked at Tony, in such a conciliatory way, those full lips curling into a gentle smile for another man, sent jolts of jealousy and anger spasming through him. She’d thrown him over for this? This nowheresville town and this hulk of a man?

Well, good luck to them. Traces of fading arousal from their early spat cemented into a clarity of focus. He wasn’t here to woo her back. Not a chance. He’d lost her once. What kind of idiot would invite that kind of grief again?

Letting him go, Connor nodded. But for the record … ‘Mim and I go way back.’

‘Yeah, me too.’ Tony put a hand on Mim’s shoulder. His voice threw down a gauntlet. ‘Primary school? High school? Pretty much all her life.’

Mim tried to stand casually between them. ‘Right, then. Let’s not waste time trawling through my life, shall we?’

She almost laughed. The scenario made her seem like some kind of diva. Little Mim, who hadn’t had so much as a kiss for three years, trying to keep two men from taunting each other. Surreal. ‘Second thoughts, Tony, you come with me. Boy, go with Connor.’

She bundled Tony into Treatment Room One and applied an oxygen mask, measured his sats and vitals. She decided not to mention his possessiveness. That would only draw attention to something she wanted to ignore. ‘Take a few deep breaths. You hurt anywhere else?’

‘Nah. All good, Mim. Scary, though. Those guys were hurt badly. Nasty business.’

‘Anyone I know?’ A likely prospect, as she knew every single inhabitant of Atanga Bay.

‘Macca Wilson and Toby Josiah.’

‘Oh, no.’ Her stomach knotted. Two of their finest. ‘I’ll phone the hospital later and see how they’re doing. Shelly’s going to need a hand with those little kiddies while Macca’s in hospital. And Toby’s mum’ll be worried sick. Any others injured?’

‘No one else got the blast. Just us, and we were a little way back. But the wind whipped up a blaze in no time. Civil Defence is up there, assessing with the fire department. No real danger, but they’re evacuating the campsite as a precaution.’

‘I’ll grab the key to the community hall and go open up. That’s the designated assembly point. Besides, there’s nowhere else to put a campsite full of people.’ Measuring Tony’s sats again, Mim smiled. ‘No major problems here. But I’ll leave you with the oxygen on for a couple of minutes while I go start the phone tree. We’re going to need bedding, food and water for the evacuees.’

After opening up the hall next door, starting the cascade of calls firing the locals into action and discharging Tony, Mim found Connor suturing a deep gash on one of the construction worker’s legs. Connor looked up as she entered, those dark eyes boring into her. Energy emanated from him, as electric as ever. Plug him in and her power-bill woes would be over.

Seeing him there, in her space, so incongruously smart and chic in her tired treatment room, and so very Connor, threw her off centre again. She gripped the doorhandle as she inhaled, deeply, to steady herself. Leather and spice and earthly man again. Her body hummed in automatic response. Inhaling was a big mistake.

He smiled, adding an urgent charge to the humming. She squeezed the handle harder and calmed her body’s reaction to him.

For goodness’ sake, she’d purged her grief at their split years ago, when it had become so obvious she couldn’t give him what he wanted. What they both wanted. Clearly her brain had reconciled that, but her body was living in a time warp. If only she could fast-forward to the end of the review, hopefully some cash. Getting her practice to its full potential. Connor leaving.

He waved gloved hands towards her. ‘Mim? Pass that gauze, will you? Just closing up. Tommo here’s had a tetanus and we’re starting antibiotics as a precaution. I was just telling him, gravel wounds are a haven for bacteria.’ He nodded at his patient. ‘Finish the whole course of tablets, okay?’

‘Yes, Doc.’ Tommo grinned. ‘And keep off the grog too, eh?’

‘Just cut down, mate. A couple of stubbies a night, that’s all. That liver’s got to last you a lifetime.’ He smiled as Tommo headed out the door. ‘And don’t forget about that well-man appointment. You won’t regret it.’

‘Sure. Cheers, Doc.’

To her irritation, Mim couldn’t fault Connor’s bedside manner, suturing skills or efficiency. He was assertive, professional and fast. But as Tommo left she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity. ‘Well-man Clinic? Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get one up and running for a while. No one came.’

‘Here? Wrong venue. Try the pub.’

‘I’ve put adverts up in there. But you can’t do a clinic in the pub.’

‘It worked fine in the some of the low-decile areas out West. We took mini-health checks out to some bars. But now we’ve educated the clients to go to the clinics, where there are better facilities. Still, a pub is a good starting place.’ Connor whipped off his gloves and threw them into the bin. Direct hit. Of course. He was precise and perfect and professional. And poles away from the reality of rural medicine.

‘You don’t know these people. There’s not a metrosexual among them. We’re lucky if we get a blast of deodorant, and no one uses hair gel.’ She tried to keep the knowing smile out of her voice as she surveyed Connor’s carefully dishevelled hair. It must have taken hours to perfect that morning. It looked good enough to run her fingers through.

Check that. No finger running. ‘Anything else is considered just plain girly. They’re stoic blokes and think being sick is a weakness.’

‘What about just before a game? Tried a clinic then?’

‘On a Saturday night?’ Okay, he had a point. The pub was always heaving at that time. But she wasn’t going to admit that. ‘Preventive medicine like that is a pipe dream. I tell you, the only way to get these men to see a doctor is if their head’s falling off or their heart’s given out.’ Remembering the four that had just pitched up to her surgery, she smiled, smugly. Case in point. ‘Or if there’s a drama. By the way, what happened to Boy? Have you finished with him already?’

‘Yep, but X-ray facilities would help.’

‘I agree. But two years ago there wasn’t even a clinic here, until I set this one up. Facilities take funding when you live in the real world.’ He never had—and that had been part of their problem. He still didn’t get it. She sighed. ‘Get your daddy to wave his magic wand. While he’s at it I’d like an MRI scanner, a decent coffee shop and lots and lots of shoes. In the meantime, we’ll make do with what we’ve got. Anything that needs more investigation goes into the city.’

‘An hour and a half’s drive away. No fun if you’re in pain.’ He shrugged, obviously choosing to ignore her barbed comment. Again. She bristled at his self-control. Maybe he wasn’t as riled by her as he used to be. That was good. Wasn’t it? She didn’t want to have any effect on him at all. Except a positive impression for the fund assessment. Really. Honestly. Then she could move on with her life, without giving a backward glance to Connor Wiseman.

‘Luckily for Boy, his finger wasn’t broken. I’m pretty sure it’s just a bad sprain so I’ve buddy-strapped it. Told him to come back in a couple of days so we can double-check.’ Having replenished the dressing trolley, Connor cracked his knuckles as he stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘Man, that felt good. It’s been a while since I did hands-on.’

‘I let you loose on my patients when you’re out of practice?’ She glowered at him. Had she allowed him to bulldoze her into something she had doubts about again? One word from him and she was almost rolling over, asking him to scruff her tummy. When would she learn? She would not let him badger her into anything any more. ‘Please tell me you have a valid practising certificate.’

‘Of course. Simmer down.’ He laughed. ‘And I thought we’d agreed to be civil. Don’t worry, I do a few hours consulting a month to keep my hand in.’

‘But why bother do all those years at med school just for a few hours a month? The internships? The GP training? What a waste.’

‘Why? I know my way around a clinic. I’ve lived and breathed medical practice.’ For the first time since his arrival he looked uncomfortable. His lips formed a tight line and a frown sat edgily over his eyes. ‘But systems management is important too. Someone needs to make sure everyone’s reached a certain standard.’

He closed his eyes briefly and Mim noticed his fist clenched against the desk. He looked like he was trying to gain control. And unbelievably sad.

‘Connor?’ Her heart stammered as she bit her lip. ‘Are you okay?’

When he opened his eyes again they resonated a steel calm. Devoid of any kind of emotion. ‘You have your demons, Mim, I have mine. And we’re both trying to work the system to fit them.’

Demons? His sister perhaps. Who knew? No point in asking. Clamming up was Connor’s forte. She’d never managed to break through that hard exterior before.

But they needed to get on to move on. She touched his fingers in a meek attempt at a handshake. ‘So how about we start over? Let’s go for civil. Who knows? We might even like it.’

Connor inhaled sharply. Mim had always been right about one thing: moving forward was the only way to go. He couldn’t change what had happened to Janey. Or that Mim had thrashed his heart. He just had to make sure that nothing like either tragedy ever happened again.

She looked up at him through thick lashes, held his gaze, her lips parted slightly. Her pale complexion was punctuated with two red circles of anger, the passion for her work flaring deeply in dark irises. Her belief and pride in her good intentions was clear in the way she held that pert body erect and taut.

As if answering her clarion call, his blood stirred in a sudden wild frenzy.

He let her hand drop and forced himself to remember all the reasons their affair had failed before. Passion and lust had never been a problem. But their clash of backgrounds and vision of their futures had pulled them in opposing directions. Walking away had been her chosen option. Three years had made no difference to her naive idealism. But this time he could do the walking.

Connor eased out the irritation rippling through his shoulders. He’d work this on his terms. Keep a professional distance.

‘Okay. Let’s start again. Hi. I’m Dr Connor Wiseman, here to assess your practice.’

‘How-de-do, Dr Wiseman. I’m Mim. Welcome to beautiful Atanga Bay, where we have sunshine and smiles in abundance. Oh, and the odd bush fire … but only once in a blue moon.’ The corner of her lips tweaked upwards as she folded her arms over her tiny frame. She was extremes and opposites. Combative and defensive. And yet he knew she enjoyed a good spat as much as he did. No one had ever riled him so much, hit the spot every time. And got a rise out of him. Figuratively and, very often, literally. Their fights had been legendary, but their make-up sex had been stellar.

He sneaked another glance down her body. She was thinner, sure, but there were still curves there, hidden under her shapeless jumper. She was every bit the woman he remembered. And then some.

And he had to endure being with her for the next three months. More if he kept being delayed by fires and regular cat fights. But he refused to be baited by her. Had to remain controlled and calm. And focused. ‘So, give me a clue. How to write notes in a computer that refuses to start?’

She picked up a pen from the desk and waved it at him, her intensity and passion transformed now to a flutter of lightness. ‘Can’t function without your gadgetry? Try using a pen.’

‘You are joking? This is twenty-first-century New Zealand, not the Pickwick Papers.’

‘If we’re busy, or the computer’s playing up, like today, I write them down on cards, and type them up later. They’re always up to date by the end of the day.’ She cringed, and had the decency to look apologetic. ‘But you’re right, the computers do need updating. I’m looking into buying wireless laptops. Chicken and egg thing—I need the money to buy computers, need the computers to get the money. But it’s high on my priority list. Is that something you can put a big tick next to?’

‘Sure. When you get them you’ll have a tick. Not before.’

Then he walked back to Reception, torn between helping her patients and completing his brief. In the end, professional compassion won out over fiscal duty. But as he directed his next patient into Treatment Room Two, he swallowed his frustration. The day he walked away from Mim and Atanga Bay couldn’t come soon enough.