Читать книгу Single Father: Wife and Mother Wanted - Sharon Archer - Страница 8

GHOSTLY gum trees loomed in the fog then slid away to the side as Matt Gardiner drove cautiously through the deserted countryside. With visibility reduced to metres, the route looked unfamiliar. No chance of using the craggy peaks of the Grampians as a point of orientation this morning.

Beside him sat his ten-year-old son, uncharacteristically quiet. Nicky Gardiner was in big, big trouble. Matt suppressed a shudder at the thought of the dangerous game Nicky and his friend had devised to entertain themselves. At this point, grounding for life sounded good.

Finally, Matt spotted the hazard-warning triangle he’d put out earlier at the site of Jim Neilson’s accident. He pulled onto the verge behind a tiny sports car.

The vehicle’s driver was crossing to the fence where Jim’s truck and horse float had ploughed through into the paddock beyond.

As he unbuckled his seat belt, Matt watched a figure pick a path across the green swathe that the runaway truck had slashed through the frost. An elegance of movement suggested the person could be a woman. Bundled up in a huge padded black jacket and hat, she looked more like the Michelin Man.

Seven-thirty. He felt like he’d been on the road for hours. Between yesterday morning’s delivery of a slightly premature baby and last night’s acute asthma attack in one of his younger patients, he was beyond tired. With the respiratory emergency resolved, he’d been on his way home more than an hour ago only to discover the sometime horse breeder’s latest debacle.

Nothing had been straightforward. Poor phone reception had meant a trip into town to organise the tow truck instead of a simple phone call. Which, as it had happened, had worked out well since he’d been close by to deal with the fallout from the boys’ adventure. An overnight stay with a mate had ended with a sword fight with real machetes, for heaven’s sake. He tamped down another shiver at what could have happened to the would-be elf lords.

Matt glanced at his son, stifling the fresh words of censure that threatened to bound off his tongue. Instead, he managed to keep it mild. ‘Stay in the car, Nicky. I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Sure, Dad.’ At least he sounded subdued. Like he might have realised he’d pushed his father too far.

Frigid air seared Matt’s lungs when he stepped out of the warmth of his car.

Steady, rattling thumps were battering the foggy tranquillity. From the confines of the horse float, Jim’s four-legged passenger didn’t sound happy.

Matt rubbed his face, enjoying the momentary relief of chilled fingertips against the lids of his tired eyes. He wanted to go home to bed, snatch maybe a half-hour nap before starting work. He shrugged away thoughts of quilt-covered comfort. No chance of that this morning. Not now.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and trudged after the driver of the sports car.

Brittle spears of frosty grass crunched beneath his feet and his breath plumed in front of his face. Winter was reaching into the second month of spring to give inland Victoria one final taste of its power. Hard to believe another two months could see them sweltering in the heat of the Australian summer.

He saw Jim scramble out of the cab of the truck. Frustration was obvious in every movement of his barrel-like body as he stomped back towards the horse float.

As soon as he let the man know the tow truck would be at least two hours, Matt could take his son home. Take time to have a serious talk. His heart clenched tight. Didn’t Nicky realise how precious every single hair on his head was?

Even Nicky’s mother, a very absentee and uninterested parent, would take a dim view of their son getting stabbed.

Ahead, the newcomer paused by the tangled wreckage of the fence. ‘Would you need a hand, then?’ a husky female voice called into a small pocket of silence.

Matt’s stride faltered and his breath caught at the sound of the lilting Irish accent.

Ridiculous. He must be even more sleep deprived than he’d thought if a woman’s voice could have that sort of effect.

Suddenly, all the tension of the morning coalesced and unreasonable anger flared deep in his gut. Why had she stopped at the accident? The truck and float were thoroughly bogged down. No way was her tiny sports car going to be any use. She was only going to get in the damned way.

From the paddock, Jim shot a disgruntled look in their direction before opening the trailer door to heave himself inside.

Matt drew level with the woman. ‘Unless you can morph into the Incredible Hulk or you’re a certified fairy godmother, there’s probably not much you can do,’ he said, not even trying to curb his sarcasm.

But as soon as he began to speak, she turned and fixed him with direct smoky-grey eyes. He swallowed. Brown curls peeped out from beneath the hat, curved onto her sculpted cheekbones and disappeared beneath her padded collar. She was lovely.

The package screamed affluence.

And sex appeal.

His pulse spiked.

‘Is that so?’ Even her voice was seductive. Deep with that intriguing foreign burr.

His gaze settled on her mouth. The full lips were lightly covered with a tempting gloss. Matt’s mouth and throat felt parched.

He hadn’t kissed a woman for a long time. A very, very long time.

Matt blinked as he struggled to direct his thoughts in a less unnerving direction. An apology. He was being obnoxious. She was a passer-by trying to do the right thing. He had no right to take his accumulated ill-humour out on her.

He twisted his mouth into a smile as he tried to dredge up the right words. The apology froze on his tongue as she tilted her head to look along the length of her perfect straight nose. Thick lashes swept down, narrowing her eyes to a dismissive glare. He felt as though someone had paralysed his rib muscles, trapping the air in his chest.

A frantic whinny and a shout from the stranded vehicle shattered the moment. The woman swivelled back to the trailer and his lungs resumed functioning.

He wanted her to look at him again. To speak again. ‘Of course,’ he said, as he walked beside her towards the horse float, ‘a horse whisperer could be just as good as a fairy godmother.’

‘I might surprise you, now, mightn’t I?’ But she didn’t bother to glance his way.

Jim shot through the door, backside first, as the float rocked under the impact of several solid thumps. It sounded as though the horse inside was trying to kick its way out.

After slamming the door, Jim turned to scowl at their approach.

‘Problem?’ said Matt.

‘Uppity mare. Tried to take my arm off.’

Matt glanced down to see blood seeping between the man’s fingers where he clutched his forearm.

He sighed. Home just got further away. ‘You’d better let me have a look.’

The messy red fingers shook as they uncurled. Matt grimaced when he saw the wound; large tooth marks scalloped the edges. ‘Nasty. You’ll need stitches.’

‘It’ll mend, I’ve had worse.’ After a quick peek at his arm, Jim’s florid cheeks turned an unhealthy grey. ‘No need to fuss. I’m not one to see the quack unless I have to.’

‘And a tetanus booster.’ Matt was aware the woman followed as he escorted Jim to the flat tray of the truck. An occasional hint of her floral perfume tempted him to breathe deeply.

‘Sit. Do you feel faint?’

‘Of course not.’ Colour washed back into the man’s face.

‘I need to get my bag.’ Matt turned his head to look at the woman. ‘If he feels faint, get him to lie down.’

‘I don’t need a nanny.’ Jim set his jaw.

Silvery eyes slanted up to meet Matt’s in a flash of unexpected communion. One brow arched expressively. ‘I will.’ Her lips twitched and he found his own curving in response.

He was left with the impression she’d be firm and efficient if Jim required her ministrations.

‘What would be the problem with your mare, then?’ the woman asked as Matt turned away. He heard Jim mumble a response.

As he made the return journey a few minutes later, having reassured Nicky that he wouldn’t be long, Matt could see she still stood guard, arms folded. He gave in to temptation and ran an appreciative eye over her slender legs, feeling a sneaking regret that the warm jacket hid the rest of her.

She looked around at his approach and he found his pulse bumping all over again as the impact of her features hit him afresh.

He set his bag beside Jim, his fingers on the catch fumbling, oddly uncoordinated. How long since the proximity of a member of the opposite sex had affected him so badly? He couldn’t remember.

‘I didn’t have the opportunity to play Florence Nightingale, more’s the pity.’ Her smoky eyes sparkled with humour.

‘Better luck next time.’ Good grief. It wasn’t just his hands that fumbled at her nearness, it was his wits as well.

‘Do you need a hand?’ she murmured.

‘What? Oh, no. Thanks.’

She stepped back. Half relieved, half disappointed, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves and turned his attention to the mangled forearm. After irrigating the area with saline, he probed the torn flesh, pleased to see no sign of foreign material in the wound.

He dried the surrounding skin after applying antiseptic then closed the ragged edges as tidily as he could with steri-strips. Digging around in his bag, he found a packet of sterile gauze dressing and a crêpe bandage.

The sounds from the float were quietening, he noted peripherally as he worked. At least that aspect of the problem seemed to be settling down.

With practised efficiency, he bound the gauze pad into place. It wasn’t going to be pretty but at least it was cleaned and dressed. The chances of Jim coming into the surgery to have the thing seen to properly were minimal. He made a mental note to look up the man’s immunisation status.

‘If I haven’t heard from you about the tetanus booster,’ he said, as he taped the end of the bandage securely, ‘I’ll give Judy a buzz.’

‘No need for that,’ Jim said in a rush.

‘No trouble.’ Matt permitted himself a small smile as he stripped off the blood-smeared gloves. Jim’s wife would make short work of any objections.

Bundling up the discarded gloves with the used gauze, he fastened the top of a small rubbish container.

Behind him, from the float, came a series of low gruff whickers and a few soft shuffling thuds. And the murmur of a soft feminine voice. He looked around.

Where was the woman? Surely she wouldn’t…

He frowned at the curved perspex window of the trailer. It was too scratched for him to see anything except the movement of blurred shapes. His gaze dropped to the black padded jacket draped over the drawbar. A sinking feeling chilled the pit of his stomach. ‘Is she in the float?’

Without waiting for an answer, he set his teeth and spun towards the trailer. Did the woman have no sense? Now he’d have another patient for stitching…or worse.

Three long strides took him to the door. He was about to jerk it open when the significance of the soft noises from inside sank in. Forcing himself to calmness, he eased it back and looked inside. The smell of ammonia clogged his breath and he realised the floor was awash with urine.

Apparently unconcerned by the stench or the fact that her boots were getting wet, the woman was at the horse’s shoulder, talking softly. The animal’s long ears flicked in response to the soothing voice.

Without the bulky jacket enveloping her, the newcomer had a very nice figure. Matt froze, his feet rooted to the spot.

A very nice figure.

Naturally padded in all the right places.

The ribbing of her jumper accentuated a narrow waist and he could see the gentle curve of one breast.

Unaware of him, she bent, lifting the canvas rug, to look at the horse’s belly. The way the black denim stretched across her rear had him drawing in a quick gulp of air.

‘What’s happening?’ His voice sounded strained.

Two sets of eyes snapped around to look his way. The effect would have been comical except for the anxiety he could read on both faces.

‘Could you open the back of the trailer, please? She’s in labour.’

‘She’s in labour?’ he repeated, his glance bouncing from the woman to the horse and back again. The words wouldn’t form a reasonable picture in his head.

‘You know…in labour? She’s going to be a mother.’

‘I know what in labour means. I’m a damned doctor.’ He squashed a wave of dismay. So much for his hopes that the situation in the trailer had improved. ‘I’ve just never had a patient with this many legs.’

‘Isn’t that a handy coincidence, then?’ She arched a shapely, dark eyebrow at him. ‘I’m a damned vet. Most of my patients have this many legs.’

And then she smiled. It was as though the sun had come out.

Matt blinked. She’d wanted him to do something…at least he remembered that much.

What was wrong with him?