Читать книгу Medical Romance January 2017 Books 1 -6 - Marion Lennox - Страница 16

CHAPTER SEVEN

BY THE TIME they reached the house she almost had herself under control again. Tom unlatched the gate and he had to release her hand while he did. It was the natural time to let go. Friends would have let go then. He no longer needed her support.

He hadn’t been holding her hand for support, though, a little voice whispered. Men and women didn’t hold hands unless...

Stop it, her head commanded. There’s no point thinking like this.

‘I have steak for dinner,’ Tom said, sounding proud of the concept.

And she thought of the table set on the veranda with the candles and the flowers and she mentally closed down.

‘Can you freeze one?’ she asked. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You don’t want my steak? I was hoping to show off my prowess?’

‘You have prowess?’ He’d sounded wounded. Prowess?

‘Hilda’s filled my freezer with enough casseroles to keep me going until Armageddon so it’s really hard to show off my splinter skills.’

‘Your splinter skills being steak.’

‘And salad. Until you’ve seen me toss a salad you haven’t lived.’

And despite herself she chuckled, but then she thought of the candles and the flowers and her laughter faded.

‘Not a good idea, Tom.’

‘Not?’ They were taking off their jackets in the hallway. He flicked on the hall lights and they lit the veranda as well. She glanced at the table she’d seen earlier.

The candles were gone. So were the flowers. The beautiful table setting had disappeared.

He followed her gaze.

‘I’m not trying to add you to my list of serial women,’ he told her, and she choked.

‘Honestly, Tom, to admit you have such a thing...’

‘Well, I do,’ he said honestly. ‘There are some lovely women in this town. I enjoy their company and they seem to enjoy mine. Take Susie. She’s just been through a messy divorce. She has two teenage children who run her ragged. She hardly has any time for Susie but for a while she came here, dressed to the nines, ready for a night out. I put an effort into making dinner great and we enjoyed our nights.’

‘Your whole nights,’ she said before she could stop herself, and he grinned.

‘Tasha, I’m no virgin,’ he told her. ‘But I’ve always been honest. No strings. I’m good at figuring how far we can take things before anyone gets hurt.’

‘You’re sure of that? How do you know Susie isn’t secretly nursing a broken heart?’

‘Hey, Susie called it quits, I didn’t. She’s in love with her geek.’

‘So no one’s ever broken their heart over you?’

‘That’s how my life’s designed,’ he said. ‘That’s what happened to my mother. I won’t be responsible...’

So that was that. Another irresponsible Blake.

But she stood in the hallway and the space was a bit too narrow. His body was brushing against hers, and at every touch her nerve endings were sending sparks from her toes to her head and back again.

Move on, she told herself harshly, and headed for the kitchen.

She swung open the door and stopped.

The kitchen table was covered with a simple gingham tablecloth. There was the plain cutlery Tom’s grandmother must have used, ancient bone-handled knives and forks. Plain crockery, mismatched, some of it cracked and worn.

No flowers. No candles. A bowl of salad sat on the bench and it was a pretty ordinary bowl of salad. Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers.

The fire stove at the far end of the kitchen was sending out its gentle warmth. Apart from a gleaming microwave and modern toaster, this room looked like it hadn’t changed in a hundred years.

She’d sat here in the days after Emily had died, with Hilda fussing around her and Tom checking in and out to make sure she was okay. She’d hardly noticed the kitchen then, but when she’d returned it had seemed...like coming home? Now it seemed to fold itself around her like a warm cloak. Tom was ushering her in, opening the refrigerator, producing two steaks in a bowl.

‘I’ve made a red wine marinade with an excellent shiraz,’ he told her. ‘I used half a bottle, which means there’s only two glasses left. One for me because that’s all I’m permitted. One for you because the last thing I want you to think is that I’m setting the scene for seduction. So, Tasha, steak and salad with me, or are you really intending to go hungry while I hop into both steaks?’ And then he grinned and raised an eyebrow in mock enquiry. ‘Dare you,’ he said. ‘Live dangerously. Steak and a glass of wine. What can possibly go wrong?’

If only you knew, Tasha thought helplessly. Oh, Tom, if only you knew.

But she had no choice. She sat and Tom produced an apron with a picture of a monster steak on the front.

‘It’s my recipe,’ he told her, tying his apron strings with a flourish, and she had to grin. The apron read:

Rare: One Beer

Medium: Two Beers

Well Done: Three Beers

It broke the ice and she found herself relaxing a little. The frying pan started to sizzle and Tom had a flash of gourmet inspiration and started frying onions. He added the steak and she was suddenly starving. The smell filled the room and she thought...

Home is where the heart is?

It was an insidious thought, a siren song. Tom had his back to her. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and his T-shirt was a touch too tight. It stretched over his pecs, delineating a build that could send any woman’s heart rate up. His neck was sexy, too, she thought idly. It was a good neck. Broad. Strong. He hadn’t had a haircut for a while, so the line where his hair started wasn’t clearly defined. She could run her fingers up and trace...

Um...not. She poured herself water and then headed for the refrigerator and found herself some ice. It’d be better to pour it over her head, she thought, but she was a sensible woman so she sat and drank it and then concentrated on marshalling her thoughts into some sort of disciplined order. By the time he put a plate of sizzling steak in front of her and sat before her with his, she almost had herself under control.

And then he smiled and her control was shot to pieces again. He poured her wine and she tasted it and it was gorgeous. The night was gorgeous, the steak was gorgeous and Tom was even more gorgeous, and she thought what had this guy been thinking when he’d decided he needed candles and flowers?

‘How did you and Liselle go today?’ she asked, feeling a bit desperate, hoping to get the conversation to a level where she could operate without her hormones charging in and taking over.

‘We did fine motor skills with my left hand,’ he told her. ‘We put little pegs into little holes until I started going crazy. Then we moved onto the really exciting stuff—we played marbles. You wouldn’t believe the adrenalin rush.’

She chuckled, but her heart twisted yet again. Since she’d arrived he hadn’t complained—not once. She knew his clumsiness was driving him crazy. She knew there were so many small things that he couldn’t do. Even now, cutting his steak was a challenge. His right hand was fine but his stiff left hand didn’t hold the way he needed to hold. There was a reason Hilda had left him so many casseroles.

He wouldn’t have tried eating steak in front of his myriad women friends, she thought with sudden intuition. But he was cutting his steak in front of her, and she knew by doing it he exposed a vulnerability he hated.

And suddenly she felt herself close to tears.

He was different, she thought. She’d categorised him as a Blake boy but maybe she was wrong. Maybe...

The phone rang.

‘Steakus Interruptus,’ Tom said, and groaned and headed out to answer it.

Two weeks ago Tasha would have cut him off but she was learning to back off. She’d learned not to rush to the phone to cut him off from trying to deal with everything himself. In turn, Tom accepted that most calls were Tasha’s responsibility. He’d come a long way, she thought. He’d finally accepted that if his body was to heal he had to face its current limitations.

Now he turned to her, his face resigned.

‘House call,’ he told her. ‘Gut pain. I don’t know any more. Ron Wetherall. He’s a local real estate guru, a big man about town. He’s also a bombastic, loud-mouthed bully. He has a mouse of a wife—Iris. Rumour has it that she’s his punching bag and I’m sure rumour’s right, though I can never get her to admit it. Now he won’t tell her exactly what’s wrong. Seems he’s curled up on the bed, clutching his gut, demanding she ring the doctor. She says he’s demanding I be there in two minutes or less—he’s in agony.’

Food poisoning? Bowel blockage? Renal colic? There was little to go on, Tasha thought. It could be anything.

‘I know he’d rather have me,’ Tom told her. ‘Macho doesn’t even begin to describe our Ron. A woman doctor will just about do his head in. Maybe you could drive me.’

‘You’re tired,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you?’

And it was a measure of how far they’d come that he agreed. ‘Maybe it’s time for our macho Ron to accept that women are as skilled as men,’ he conceded. ‘Are you okay to go?’

‘After only one glass of wine?’ she said. ‘I can do it with my hands behind my back.’

‘Then call me if you need me,’ he told her, and she smiled at him and he smiled back. She headed out to get her jacket but she had to brush past him as she went.

And she came so close...so incredibly close...to kissing him goodbye that when she reached the veranda it was all she could do not to run.

* * *

Iris Wetherall, as Tom had described, was a worried mouse of a woman. She opened the door with a hand to her face, but Tasha could see the beginnings of an ugly bruise under her eye. She ushered Tasha in with relief but Tasha hadn’t got two steps inside the door before an agonised moan filled the house. Two small King Charles spaniels put their paws over their heads and moaned in sympathy.

‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ Iris whispered. ‘I was mopping the kitchen floor. I... Something spilt.’ Her hand went to her eye again. ‘Ron went to bed and left me to clean but suddenly he started screaming. He’s partly undressed, hunched up on the bed, but he won’t let me near. He won’t say what’s wrong, just get the doc, get the doc. He’s upstairs.’

Iris hardly had to lead her. All she had to do was follow the moans.

The bedroom was vast. Actually, the whole house was vast, an ode to real-estate luxury surely almost unheard of in modest Cray Point. As she entered the bedroom Tasha had to stop and blink. Acres of white carpet. Vast French windows opening to a massive balcony with spotlights illuminating the swimming pool below. A bed that looked big enough to house a couple of families at a time, and the families wouldn’t need to be small. Plush, plush and more plush and in its midst was a florid, overweight man in his fifties, stripped to the waist, his bedcovers half pulled up to hide his nether regions. He was lying almost in a foetal position, moaning fit to die.

‘The doctor’s here,’ Iris quavered, and Ron managed to writhe around so he could see.

‘Thank God...’

And then he saw Tasha and his yell almost split the night.

‘I said the doc, you stupid cow. I don’t want some woman. Get me the doc, now!’

‘I’m a doctor.’ Tasha was trying to assess what was happening. He was certainly in pain but he was almost apoplectic with rage and his yell had contained strength as well as fury. ‘You know Dr Blake’s been ill,’ Tasha told him. ‘I’ve taken over his house calls. Can you tell me what’s wrong?’

‘No!’ It was a vicious yell, and he turned to his wife again. ‘Get her out. I don’t want any more stupid women. It’s your fault in the first place. Did I ask for new...?’ And then he caught himself. ‘Get out,’ he screamed. ‘Now.’

And Tasha was starting to guess what was wrong. If she was right... Ouch.

He did need help. There was no doubting his pain was real, but if he wouldn’t let her help...

‘I could call an ambulance,’ she said.

‘I don’t want an ambulance. They’ll take ages and women work those things now. Get Doc Blake!’

‘He isn’t on call.’

‘Get him,’ Ron shouted again.

Tasha hesitated. What she’d like to do was walk away until he saw reason, but there was a chance this was a torsion, something that could mean long-term damage.

‘You understand Dr Blake is unwell himself,’ she said, playing for time.

‘I don’t care,’ he snarled.

What had Tom’s assessment been? A bombastic, loud-mouthed bully.

She could call Tom. If she was right in her guessed diagnosis, he might even enjoy it, she conceded, but there was no way she was simply caving to this man’s demands. A woman had some pride.

‘I could ask Tom to assist,’ she said, making herself sound doubtful.

‘Get him!’

‘Only in an assistant capacity,’ she said firmly. ‘On that understanding only.’

‘He’ll do what I tell him.’

‘Dear, don’t upset the doctor,’ Iris quavered, and Tasha gave her a pat on the shoulder.

‘I’m not upset,’ she told her. ‘If Ron doesn’t want me to help, then we’ll leave him be while we call for back-up.’

* * *

‘Tom?’

Tom answered on the first ring. He hated Tasha doing these calls without him but he had no choice. The deal was, though, that she call him the moment she was worried.

‘Problem?’

‘Who would know?’ she said softly. ‘It might be something serious or it may not. Mr Wetherall is currently clutching his privates, screaming in agony and telling every woman in sight—that’s Iris and me—where to go. Iris has the beginnings of a black eye. She looks like she’s just been struck. Ron won’t say what’s wrong but he’s demanding that you come. I’ve finally agreed to call you—but only in an assistant capacity.’

‘What do you think’s happening?’ Ron Wetherall was a beefy oaf, known for his unscrupulous business dealings as well as for his appalling treatment of his rather nice little wife. But if he was really ill...

‘He was undressing when it came on,’ Tasha said blandly. ‘Iris says he had no symptoms until then. He took off his shirt, then his shoes and socks and then started to remove his brand-new pants. That’s all the information I’ve been able to glean. He’s told me where to go in no uncertain terms when I asked to examine him, but based on the information...’

And Tom was with her. ‘The dreaded zipper stick?’

‘That’s what I’m assuming. But I’m a girl, what would I know? And it could be something more serious. He’s being so obnoxious I could walk out but he could do some real damage.’

‘There are those in this town who’d enjoy a bit of real damage,’ Tom said thoughtfully. ‘But you’re right. It’d be negligent to leave him as he is.’

‘So you’ll come?’

‘Of course.’ He paused, thinking it through. ‘Tasha, I’ve been worried about Iris for some time. I’m sure she’s being assaulted but she won’t say. Two months ago I treated her for a broken cheekbone but all she’d say was that she’d fallen. She’s had broken bones before but he’s always with her when she comes in.’

‘She won’t talk about her eye now.’

‘So we have two patients.’ He hesitated and then came to a decision. ‘I’m thinking... If he’s really incapacitated then maybe we can use this situation to treat the two of them. Will you follow my lead?’

‘Of course.’

‘Excellent,’ Tom told her. ‘I’ll call the taxi and be right with you.’

* * *

Tasha and Iris followed orders and got out of Ron’s sight. They drank tea in the kitchen and tried to settle the dogs, while overhead the air was filled with Ron’s obscenity-laden moans.

Iris seemed more and more frightened. If this was zipper stick, Ron would need to take his fury out on someone at the end of this, Tasha thought, and she hoped Tom had a plan.

Then Tom arrived—with back-up.

He had a huge surgical case and he had company. Brenda bustled in behind him, carrying surgical scrubs encased in plastic wraps and her own nursing case. She was followed by Karen, the taxi driver, carrying an oxygen canister big enough to fuel an elephant. Tasha tried to take it from her—Tom, plus the district nurse, plus the local taxi driver were all heading for the sick room—but Karen shook her head.

‘Doc wants me to carry it,’ she said. ‘I spend my life hauling luggage. No sweat.’

‘Straight up to the bedroom,’ Tom ordered. ‘I’m not sure what we’re facing but Dr Raymond suspects it’s serious so we need to get things moving. Dr Raymond, could you come into the bedroom, please? And Iris, too? If this is a surgical procedure we need you to sign consent forms. Karen, could you stay? Karen was a nurse before she and her husband took over the taxi company,’ he explained to Tasha. ‘We’ve used her before when we’ve had to do emergency surgical procedures. She’s great.’

And then he reached Ron’s bedside and all at once he turned into the Tom Tasha knew. Gentleness itself. ‘Hi, Ron. You have a problem? We’re here to help and we’ll get the pain under control as fast as we can. Let’s see what’s happening.’

Let’s see. Let us see. Plural.

There were now five people and two dogs in Ron’s bedroom, and Ron was staring wildly up at the assortment of people around his bed. His eyes were almost popping out of his head.

‘Get these people out of here!’

‘You know I can’t do that,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘I have to assume it’s not a minor problem or you would have let Dr Raymond deal with it. And with your request for no ambulance we’ve come prepared for anything.’

‘No,’ Ron screamed, and Tom sighed.

‘We may need a sedative, Nurse,’ he told Brenda. ‘Could you administer five milligrams of diazepam, intramuscularly. Karen, would you mind helping? Tasha, I’ll get you to hold his hips. Karen, if you could hold that arm? We’ll twist him around so he’s facing upwards and I can see what we’re dealing with. Okay, on my count. Three, two...one...’

And before he knew it, Ron was on his back and Brenda was slipping in the intramuscular sedative.

And they could all see what the problem was.

One penis. One zipper. Inextricably entwined.

Tom grimaced. ‘You know, you really should have let Dr Raymond deal with this,’ he said gently. ‘Swelling around the entrapped tissue makes this procedure more difficult. We need a penile block. Brenda, could you administer...?’

‘Certainly, Doctor,’ Brenda said.

‘You do it,’ Ron screamed and Tom shook his head.

‘Maybe Dr Raymond could have managed by herself if you’d agreed to let her examine you,’ he told him. ‘But we’ve gone past that now. Iris, do you have cooking oil? Excellent. Brenda, can we have a plastic sheet from your bag? Let’s move, people. Ron, the sedation will be taking hold any minute. Just try your best to relax until it does.’

* * *

Tasha could only watch in admiration. Tom had the situation under complete control.

Once the sedative took hold and they could get a clear idea of how bad the problem was, cooking oil might solve the problem without any other intervention, she thought. The pain was easing but Ron was still breathing fire. He was demanding—expecting—a quick surgical fix, but to his chagrin Tom simply poured cooking oil over everything in sight and told him to stay where he was while the oil had a chance to penetrate.

‘It’s important you stay still,’ he told him. ‘The oil may well take half an hour to soften everything around it. Would you like Iris to stay with you? Or Brenda? No? Then I suggest we all retire to the kitchen. Call us if there’s any change.’

So, much to Ron’s fury, they ended up around the kitchen table again. Iris tentatively produced a bottle of wine, which Tom and Tasha refused because they were on duty but which Karen had no qualms in accepting. And Brenda had one too because, as she said, she was only a little bit on duty. Iris watched them drink, and then suddenly poured one for herself.

She drank it too fast, and then Tom poured her another. He was watching her with sympathy. He was waiting, Tasha thought. What’s he doing?

There was a little small talk. The moans upstairs were decreasing as the drugs took hold.

Iris was relaxing.

And then, after the second glass of wine, Tom asked Iris about the bruise on her face. She shook her head.

‘Tell us,’ Tom said gently, and reached over and brushed her cheek, lightly, a gesture of caring that made something inside Tasha twist.

And it must have hit Iris exactly the same way. She gave a half-strangled sob, looked wildly round the table—and then tugged her blouse down to reveal bruises right to where they disappeared under her bra. ‘R-Ron,’ she said simply. ‘All the time.’

‘You’ve never admitted,’ Tom said gently. ‘Iris, I’ve asked...’

‘He’d hit me harder if he knew I told you. But...but he’ll hit me again tonight anyway. He was angry with me before...’

‘Do you want to leave him?’ Tom asked, and Iris took another gulp of wine and looked wildly about her. Four sympathetic faces looked back.

‘Y-yes. But he’d never let me. I don’t have any money and I have nowhere to go. He told me once if I ever left him he’d hide everything and he knows how. He says he’ll come up on paper as bankrupt. And he’d come after me. No one defies Ron.’

‘Iris, we can,’ Karen said, in a voice that brooked no opposition. ‘And we will. You have two dogs who’d get on fine with my two dogs, who just happen to be German Shepherds. Big ones. My boys are gentle as lambs but they don’t look gentle. We have a granny flat at the back of our house and Brian and I and the dogs can see anyone off who needs to be seen off. Promise.’

‘And if you don’t like the granny flat there’s a spare room at my place,’ Brenda told her. ‘If you let us...if you allow us to help you, you’ll find you’re surrounded. Iris, you have friends in this town. Ron’s never let them close but we’re here for you.’

And suddenly Tasha realised just why Tom had come armed with Karen and Brenda. They’d turned from two nurses into two fierce advocates for a downtrodden sister. Had he known they would? She glanced at him and saw the satisfaction. Of course he’d known.

He cared.

‘But then there’s money.’ Karen sounded not only helpful, she was also practical. ‘Ron’s loaded but Iris is right—he’s smart enough to hide everything. The whole town knows he’s a financial snake. I wouldn’t mind betting everything’s in offshore accounts.’

‘Iris, where does he keep his financial records?’ Tom’s question was gentle but firm. Iris had crossed a line and he didn’t want her retreating.

She gazed at him as if he was crazy. As if they were all crazy. But suddenly a flare of hope lit her bruised face. The beginnings of revolt.

‘In his study. I’m not allowed in except to dust and hoover.’

‘Then let’s dust,’ Tom said cheerfully. ‘And maybe we should dust the insides of his filing cabinet, too. What do you think?’

And, to Tasha’s amazement, they were suddenly all in Ron’s study. Five people sifting financial documents fast... Operating the copier. Being very, very quiet. At the end of half an hour Iris had a suitcase packed and the dogs and Iris were in Karen’s taxi, Brenda following behind to give the impression of solidarity, and Tasha was almost breathless with astonishment.

‘We’ll get these documents to the local solicitor before his morning coffee,’ Tom declared. ‘There’s no way Ron can hide what he owns now. Iris, you’re safe.’

* * *

There was still the small matter of one entrapped penis. Ron was still lying rigid in his bed. Tom had warned him not to move and he hadn’t.

He looked almost emasculated, Tasha thought, and she could have felt sorry for him if she hadn’t seen those bruises. Their staging spoke of constant beatings, over and over.

Tom had taken photographs with his cellphone. ‘If it’s okay with you, Iris, I’ll talk to the police,’ he’d said.

And Brenda and Karen had both said, ‘Do it.’

Iris had taken another gulp of wine and said yes.

Ron had quite a day in front of him tomorrow.

But for tonight his pain was almost over. Tasha was happy to stay in the background. Ron lay rigid while Tom examined him. The oil had softened the trapped foreskin. The zipper was oiled to the maximum.

Tom touched the head of the zipper with wire cutters, the teeth came apart and the skin flopped free.

There was a tiny bit of bleeding. Tom cleaned it with care, then he and Tasha removed his oiled clothing and the plastic sheeting, and helped Ron into clean pyjamas. Their care couldn’t be faulted.

‘We’re leaving you another sedative and a couple of painkillers,’ Tom told him. ‘It’s eleven now. You can take them any time after two. We’ll leave you a glass of water.’

‘Iris’ll get it,’ Ron growled. ‘Where is she? I want a whisky.’

‘No alcohol tonight,’ Tom decreed. ‘Not with the drugs you have on board.’

‘Tell Iris to come up.’ And they knew he had no intention of following orders.

‘Iris can’t come,’ Tom said smoothly. ‘We noticed bruising on her face and examination proves it’s extensive. We’ve organised for her to stay somewhere where she can be fully examined. Many of those bruises are old. We need to find their cause.’

There was a moment’s pause. It stretched.

‘She falls,’ Ron growled at last. ‘Stupid cow. She’s clumsy. Don’t listen to a word she says. Tell her to come here now.’

‘She’s already gone,’ Tom said gently. ‘You get some sleep, Ron. You may need all your strength tomorrow.’

* * *

They left him not sleeping. They left him almost rigid with rage and frustration—and fear.

They left and Tom was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

‘I’ve been waiting for years,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘I suspected but there was nothing I could do. I can’t believe one zipper and it’s sorted.’

‘She might rescind,’ Tasha reminded him. It was sadly normal for battered women to respond to threats and return.

‘You think Karen and Brenda will let that happen? They’re two of the toughest women I know. Iris has her dogs, a safe place to stay and a couple of German Shepherd watchdogs. She has Karen and Brenda at her back and a file on Ron’s dealings that I bet will make our local solicitor’s eyes water. Nailed by a zipper.’

‘You really do care,’ Tasha said slowly. They were back in the car, heading home.

‘Do you doubt that? These are my people.’

‘Paul never cared.’ She hadn’t meant to say it. It just...happened.

‘I’m not Paul.’

‘You surf to the point where you smash yourself on the rocks. You love women.’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘Guilty as charged. So shoot me.’

She fell silent.

So did he.

Guilty as charged.

He accepted it. He knew it.

His care was extraordinary. What had just happened showed a depth of insight and tenderness that almost did her head in. He’d watched and worried about Iris for years, and tonight he’d found an opportunity to put things right.

His care made something inside her twist so hard it hurt. He loved this town. He loved its people.

So what? The voice inside her head was hammering the question. It doesn’t make any difference. He still loves women. He still loves risk.

And then the thought of Iris was suddenly front and centre. Once upon a time Iris had loved Ron, she thought. Iris must have gone into marriage as a blissful bride, sure that her man loved her back.

How could you trust your judgement?

She couldn’t. Her judgement was skewed by a lousy childhood, but maybe she’d been born with a lack of survival instinct in the first place. Like Iris.

Make decisions with your head, not your heart. She’d said that to herself after Paul’s funeral. She’d put the rule aside when she’d tried to have Emily, and hadn’t she paid the price?

The night suddenly seemed darker, bleaker, and the exultation from what had just taken place receded. She drove on in silence. Tom stretched his bad leg and winced and she didn’t ask about it. She couldn’t.

She didn’t want to care.

Tom’s phone rang and she was almost grateful. He had his phone on speaker and she listened. Croup. A young mum with an eighteen-month-old baby plus two other children. Her husband was away. She couldn’t come to the surgery and Tasha could hear the fear in her voice.

She also heard the unmistakable sounds of croup in the background.

‘We’re already in the car,’ Tom told the young mother. ‘We’ll be there in less than five minutes.’

‘You should be home in bed,’ Tasha told him. ‘I can do this. Tom, you must be dead on your feet.’

‘I have adrenalin bouncing off the walls,’ he told her. ‘If you think I can go home and sleep...’

‘You should do something about your adrenalin. It gets you into all sorts of trouble.’

‘Does it?’ he asked, and his voice suddenly softened. ‘Is that what you’re afraid of?’

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

* * *

Meg Ainsling was eighteen months old and near to exhaustion. Hannah Ainsling opened the door holding Meg, and she practically fell into their arms with relief.

‘I’m so frightened.’

Then she broke off as Meg started wheezing again. It was a fragile, weak cough, a child at the end of her strength.

‘You should have rung earlier,’ Tom said, swinging his bag onto the table and then taking Meg into his arms.

And here was yet another example of Tom’s caring, Tasha thought as he carried the little girl through to the warm kitchen, holding her as if he’d been holding babies all his life. The firmness and his soft growl of reassurance seemed to relax the little one rather than frighten her.

‘Let’s get some steam into the room,’ he ordered. ‘Hannah, get every pot you can fit onto the stove, filled with hot water, and see how much we can bring to the boil. Boil the kettle, too. Let’s get this room full of vapour.’

That was the old-fashioned way of treating croup, Tasha knew. It worked to an extent but Meg was beyond using that as a sole remedy. Tasha could hear the stridor, which marked the upper airway obstruction secondary to infection or swelling.

She unpacked the medical bag while Hannah started filling the kitchen with steam. Tom performed a swift examination, talking to the little girl as he did. Meg was limp in his arms, as if she sensed that finally here was someone who could help her.

They worked fast, not needing to speak to each other as they worked. There was no need. Tom spooned the little girl back into her mother’s arms—after that swift examination there was no need to stress her more than necessary. Then they administered nebulised adrenalin. They used a nebuliser mask with oxygen, and it was a sign of how close Meg was to the edge that the little girl didn’t fight it.

Her breathing was rapid. Her pulse was fast and there was a drawing in of the muscles between her ribs and in her neck. It hurt to listen, and Tasha glanced at Hannah’s face and glanced away.

She knew this terror. Here it was again, the black wall. The impossibility of moving on.

How could she ever put herself near this dread again? How could she think of having another baby?

How could she let herself love again?

She couldn’t.

Hannah had herself under control. ‘The stridor will get worse if she cries,’ Tom had told her, so every ounce of Hannah’s concentration was in keeping her little girl calm.

If it had been Tasha’s call she’d probably be sending her to hospital but Tom seemed content to wait.

Another ten minutes. Another dose.

Tasha accepted his cue. She made them all tea and they waited some more.

Another ten minutes. Another dose.

And finally the stridor faded. The little girl relaxed in her mother’s arms, and ten minutes after that she was asleep.

Drama over.

‘Keep the steam up tonight,’ Tom told her. ‘But I think she’ll be fine.’ They stood by the cot they’d pulled into the kitchen and watched the steady rise and fall of Meg’s chest. ‘But why did you leave it so long to call?’

‘I didn’t like to worry you,’ Hannah told him. ‘I know you need your rest.’

‘I’m almost better.’

‘But you’re not fully better. The whole town knows it. And Tasha—’

‘You know Tasha’s here to help.’

‘But Tasha’s little girl would have been the same age as Meg,’ Hannah whispered. ‘We all know about your Emily, Tasha. We’re all so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.’

And Tasha’s chest tightened.

It did hurt. Of course it hurt and it hurt the most because time stood still when it should move on.

Emily was still a part of her, a deep and abiding centre she could never lose. But Emily didn’t grow. That was the heartbreak. In her mind Emily was still a beloved, beautiful newborn, not an eighteen-month-old. She should be coping with childhood illnesses, bumps, bruises, all the things that made a normal childhood.

‘I don’t think about it,’ she whispered, and Hannah and Tom looked at her with identical expressions. Expressions that said they knew she was lying.

‘I’m not avoiding children for the rest of my life because I’ve lost Emily,’ she said, forcing herself to sound brisk, efficient, professional. ‘Are you sure you don’t want Meg to go to hospital?’

‘She’s better with me,’ Hannah said, her eyes suddenly welling.

And Tasha thought, I need to get out of here.

‘Can you take my case out to the car?’ Tom asked. ‘Sorry, but my leg...’

‘Of course.’ She knew it was a ruse, an escape Tom sensed she needed, but she was too grateful to protest. ‘Goodnight, Hannah. Good luck with Meg.’

‘I don’t need luck when I have you two,’ Hannah whispered. ‘God bless both of you.’

* * *

Once more she drove. Tom gazed out into the darkness and said nothing. There were things unsaid all over the place.

Hannah’s words hung between them.

She wasn’t starting any conversation that could end up with her weeping, she decided. She’d spent eighteen months tamping down emotions and she wasn’t about to let them flare now.

‘How do you cope?’ Tom asked, and the tamping got a whole lot harder.

She should say ‘I’m fine.’ She should say ‘It doesn’t bother me, seeing kids every day of my working life. Watching parents with kids in strollers, pushing swings in playgrounds, coping with howling kids in supermarkets.’

‘I don’t cope,’ she said quietly. ‘I just suck it up and keep it down there. Being a sodden mess for the rest of my life’s not an option. Emily’s with me as much as she can be. The rest...I think it’s like amputation. You learn to get on with your life but nothing’s going to put it back.’

He swore.

‘And that doesn’t help either,’ she said. ‘You can’t imagine the new words I’ve attempted.’ She tried a smile, which didn’t come off. ‘I know this is dumb,’ she confessed. ‘But I used to be afraid of flying. I didn’t like thunder either. Now, though, I don’t seem to be afraid of anything. It’s like the worst has happened, so what can I possibly be afraid of?’ She tried for the smile again and finally succeeded. ‘So see me indomitable. See me fearless. Just like a Blake boy.’

He didn’t smile back. ‘I don’t like the analogy,’ he said softly. ‘Because I can’t imagine how empty that must feel. If there’s anything I can do...’ He paused. ‘But of course there’s not.’

‘You did everything you could do.’

‘Taking away hurt...’

‘It’s not possible. It’s not worth trying.’

‘Tasha, pull in here.’ They were driving along the coast road, along the cliffs above the town. There was a track off to the east, innovatively named ‘View Road’.

She shouldn’t obey, Tasha thought. She was feeling numb, tired by the emotion of the night, exposed by the worry she sensed in Tom’s voice. She should keep going, head to bed, hide her pain under her pillows as she fought for sleep.

But the car seemed to turn of its own accord, and a moment later they were parked under a sign that was even more innovative—‘View Point’.

It was indeed View Point. The moon hung low over the water, sending silver shards from the horizon straight to Tom’s little car. The night was still and calm. The ocean was a plane of moonlit shimmer.

While they watched, a pod of dolphins broke the surface just beneath the cliffs. They leaped in and out of the water as they made their way south, growing smaller and smaller until all that was left was a trail of moonlit phosphorescence.

‘I ordered those guys,’ Tom said smugly. ‘Right on cue. They’re good. They’ll start demanding a pay rise soon if they do it any better.’

She’d been lost, caught by the emotion still welling inside her. Tom’s words broke the moment and made her choke on a bubble of laughter.

This was okay. She was moving on.

‘What you did tonight was brilliant,’ she told him. ‘I can’t believe that Iris is safe. And Meg... How can you care so much?’

‘When I’m really like Paul?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ he told her. ‘You think I can’t care about anyone because I won’t care about someone in particular. Because I know I’m a risk as husband material, I won’t go there, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care in other ways.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sorry, too. I wish you hadn’t had to help treat Meg tonight. I know how much it hurt.’

‘I need to get over hurt.’ She was trying her hardest to keep this conversation grounded. ‘Like you. You’re improving every day.’

‘I’m not talking about physical hurt. It’s the other hurt that stays with us. Watching my father break my mother’s heart... Watching your husband betray you... Watching Emily die...’ And then he stopped.

There was a long, long silence. She couldn’t break it. She didn’t know how.

And then...

‘Tasha, I’d really like to kiss you.’

This was a bad idea. Her head knew it but somehow tonight she’d passed the point where her head was in control.

The night. The pain she’d just tried to express. His pain.

Tom...

She’d never talked to anyone as she and Tom had just talked. She’d tried to hide her pain, not put it out there for anyone to see.

Only this wasn’t anyone.

Tom was her friend. He was the man she’d gone to when she’d been in trouble. He was a colleague, someone who’d helped her, and she could help back. A man who’d suffered a cerebral bleed.

He was all of those things but above all he was Tom.

A man sitting beside her, reaching out to touch her face, swiping away an errant tear that had welled up despite her best efforts to hold it back.

She hadn’t cried since she’d left Australia eighteen months before. She’d left her tears in a graveyard high on the headland of Cray Point and she’d shed no tears since.

But somehow Tom exposed her.

She’d just told him she could never feel fear again, and here it was, in the car with them. She was fearful.

Not of Tom. Never of Tom.

She was frightened of how he made her feel.

Turn on the ignition, she told herself. Head for home. Her head was screaming it, but Tom’s touch on her face was light, wondering, gentle.

Her friend.

A Blake boy?

The analogy seemed to have gone out the window. She’d watched him comfort a tiny child, calm her, settle her.

She’d watched him care for Iris. Care about Iris.

And despite her fears, a flicker of hope lit within her and refused to be quelled.

Maybe she could try... Maybe they could try...

Move forward with your head, not your heart.

Her mantra was wavering. She was trying to clutch at it but it was vaporising at his touch.

‘I won’t hurt you.’ He said it like it was the most sacred vow and somehow she managed to smile.

‘By kissing me? You have five o’clock stubble. Of course you’ll hurt me.’

‘You want to risk it?’ The fingers traced her cheekbones, then moved to cup her face, but as if he could sense her fear, his hands held her lightly so she could pull back at any moment.

But fear was receding. Those last tugs from that appalling mantra couldn’t hold her. This was Tom.

She raised her face to his and let herself be pulled in to be kissed.

* * *

She hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t wanted it.

She wanted it now.

His mouth met hers, lightly, tentatively, ready to pull away if she made the least move of protest.

But how could she protest when it felt as if his mouth belonged to her? Was part of her. Was...hers?

For the feel of his mouth on hers wasn’t complicated at all. The first touch had deepened in an instant as both their bodies recognised something bigger than each of them.

Heat. Passion. Desire.

For she wanted him. Her body was screaming its need and she had no defence. She wanted no defence. She sank into the kiss and melted into its heat. She felt his arms wrap around her as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and that’s what she felt like. Cherished.

Helpless in the face of mutual desire.

Melting and wanting to melt.

But this wasn’t exactly a private place. View Point was also known as Passion Point and for a reason. The local kids used it as a parking spot and why wouldn’t they? The place breathed romance.

And now a car zoomed in behind them, all eight cylinders of heated-up metal. It cruised up beside them, the sound system sending out a booming bass that was pretty much guaranteed to break any romantic moment. The driver’s window came down and a head poked out.

‘Hey, Doc, not expecting to see you up here. You got a chick?’

‘That’s what I get for not buying a generic sedan,’ Tom breathed, and tugged away.

‘You too busy to talk?’ the kid in the car called, and Tom sighed and wound down his window.

‘Time you were home in bed, Benny Lannard,’ he said sternly. ‘Does your dad know you have his car?’

‘Got my licence last week,’ Benny said proudly. ‘Me and Kylie’s just trying things out.’

‘Yeah, well don’t go trying too much out,’ Tom said bluntly. ‘You guys know how babies are made and they mean the end of life as you know it. You make Kylie pregnant, mate, you’ll be a grandpa at forty and you’ll be paying child maintenance for the next twenty years.’

There was a moment’s deathly silence.

‘Child maintenance...’

‘I know you’d do the right thing by Kylie,’ Tom said inexorably. ‘But if you don’t support her the government garnishes your wages. They take half or sometimes more, until the kid’s as old as you are. But of course you know that. And by the way, Kylie, if you end up pregnant you won’t get into your nineteen-fifties dresses ever again, and who can go clubbing with a baby in tow? If you think your mum will take over, think again. I know your mum.’

‘Uh, gross,’ Kylie muttered. ‘Benny, maybe...’

‘Yeah, babe,’ Benny said hurriedly, and Tasha had to choke back laughter at the sudden lack of enthusiasm in both their voices. And then Benny said... ‘Who you got there, Doc?’

‘A friend,’ Tom said, winding his window up firmly. ‘A friend who’s mature enough to know it’s time to go home. We’ll leave you to it but if you’re planning on starting a family tonight, drop in tomorrow and I’ll give you both a brochure on the responsibilities of parenthood.’

* * *

They drove home. Tasha was torn between laughter and something else. Something she couldn’t name.

The kiss had changed all sorts of things. So had Tom’s lecture on responsibility. He cared so much, she thought. He loved this little community and the thought was suddenly, inexplicably sexy.

A doctor giving a lecture on teenage pregnancy? What was sexy about that?

But he’d made her laugh and he’d kissed her again lightly before they’d driven from View Point and every single sense was aware of him. Achingly aware. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Where was sense when she needed it? She couldn’t grasp it and she didn’t.

And when they reached home the sensation became almost unbearable.

‘Cup of tea?’ Tom said, and his voice was suddenly unsteady. His voice had been starting to lose the faint slur the stroke had caused and she missed it. Which was dumb. Inexplicable. And then she thought, was she missing it because it meant that soon he’d have no need of her?

Soon she could go home. Wherever home was.

‘Or bed?’ Tom asked before she could answer the tea question, and the world seemed to still.

Tea and bed. A normal question between friends.

Friends to lovers... It could happen.

It shouldn’t happen, she told herself fiercely. It was dumb. She’d fallen for one Blake.

Tom wasn’t Paul. He was just... Tom.

And there was no pressure. They ditched their jackets, stowing their medical gear in the hall cupboard. They were two professionals home from the job.

Home. There was that word again.

She was home with Tom.

Home was where the heart was and she knew where her heart lay. Up until now the sense of belonging had seemed everything to do with a tiny grave on a headland but suddenly she knew it wasn’t true. Or it was partly true but there was more.

Where was her heart?

It was well and truly here. It was entwined with all the things Tom had done for her. It was entwined with Tom’s caring, Tom’s laughter, Tom’s smile.

Surely not. That’d make a mockery of every vow she’d made after the disaster of her marriage to Paul, but right now her heart didn’t seem to connect to her head.

He was so near. So close.

He should have a bigger hallway, she thought tangentially.

And then he said, ‘Tasha...’ in a voice she hadn’t heard before.

A voice full of tenderness. A voice that was husky with a passion that matched what she was feeling.

A voice that said he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

A voice that said bed was inevitable.

‘Tom,’ she whispered, and the thing was decided. He had her in his arms and he was lifting her...

‘Your leg,’ she squeaked. ‘Your arm...’

‘It’s therapy,’ he told her, smiling. ‘You don’t think my rehab team would approve of me exercising any way I know how?’

‘It’s not on your list,’ she managed.

‘Then it’s a dumb list. It needs all sorts of things added to it, starting now.’