Читать книгу Falling for Dr December - Susanne Hampton, Susanne Hampton - Страница 10

LAINE WAS AMUSED and a little taken aback by Pierce’s comment. This country doctor definitely had an edge to him. He was actually a little more city than she had first imagined. She smiled to herself then decided to delete the mental image that had crept into her mind. Edge or no edge, this trip to Uralla needed to stay professional. The thought of Pierce as anything more than a photo shoot couldn’t happen. Not even a fling. Her flings were very separate from her work.

Gossip spread quickly in the circles in which she travelled and she wasn’t about to become the photographer who overstepped the mark and fell into bed with her models. No matter how tempting it could be at times. It risked a shift in power. It also complicated life and she had never allowed herself to become fodder for rumours. It was one of her rules.

Along with another, which prevented her flings developing into relationships. Her heart was safely tucked away behind a stone wall that was carved with her rules. Her own invisible armour, it kept her safe from ever becoming attached to another person. From ever needing someone, only to find they had gone. From ever feeling secure, only to find she was alone again.

Laine Phillips was a one-woman show. And nothing would ever change that. Definitely not a three-day stop-over in Uralla.

‘You can put your shirt on now,’ she told him, without looking again at his stunning physique. ‘The shoot is over.’

Her professional demeanour was in full throttle now, he thought. Perhaps it had been his remark about the mistletoe, he mused. His intention had been to lighten the mood, but clearly that wasn’t about to happen in the near future. She had shut him down and any light-hearted banter was over. Apparently Laine Phillips was all business.

Drawing breath, he looked at her very pretty face. It was devoid of emotion. He wondered what her story was—what made this very attractive woman so defensive. So aloof and untouchable. Her walls were so high that Pierce wondered if it was more than big-city conceit. This seemed more personal.

Laine Phillips seemed to be a gorgeous island that perhaps no one had ever discovered.

He found it odd that he was making sweeping statements in his own head about a woman he barely knew. He had never summed up a woman so quickly. He had never wanted to before. But she was such an enigma.

‘So shall I meet you at the McKenzies’ property tomorrow morning around four-thirty?’

‘Four-thirty in the morning?’ he questioned her, as he did up the last of his shirt buttons. ‘Are we milking the cows?’

Her eyes smiled. She didn’t give her mouth permission to do the same. ‘It’s the perfect lighting then. Nothing to do with cows. I want to capture you in the wide-open paddock just as the sun rises, with a single eucalyptus tree on the horizon. Single man, single tree. Blatant symbolism.’

‘Single eucalyptus tree?’ he asked with a quizzical frown dividing his dark brows. ‘Have you actually seen the McKenzies’ property or are you just hoping to find a backdrop like that?’

Laine shifted the heavy bag a little on her shoulder. She didn’t want to admit she knew the property like the back of her hand. That she had spent time there when she’d been growing up. She had hoped to avoid questions like this but realised that it was nearly impossible. When she had discovered that Dr Pierce Beaumont, her final shoot in the calendar, was the resident general practitioner in Uralla she had been filled with dread. When the bus had pulled out of the town all those years ago, its final destination Sydney, she had begun to barricade her emotions—one brick at a time. Each signpost she had passed had laid another piece of rock around her heart.

For a few years Sydney had become her home and then New York. She chose cities that prevented her from forming lasting relationships. Cities as cold and detached as the person she needed to become. She wasn’t strong enough to remain in a town as kind as Uralla. She didn’t have any more tears, or anything left inside to save her again. There could never be another heartache, for the next one would most definitely be the end of her. So Melanie Phillips had taken matters into her own hands. She had changed her name just enough to feel like a different person and she’d moved on, successfully burying herself in a busy and demanding life. A life without love and all the risks and sadness it brought.

When she had agreed to the calendar assignment, Laine had had no inkling that she would be spending time in this familiar little town in country New South Wales. She’d assumed it would be capital cities or large beachside towns. Not a town so small it didn’t really factor into most people’s knowledge of Australian geography. It was as pretty as a picture but famous for nothing more than being not too far from the centre of country music in Australia and for having a major highway as a main street. It was a town where you could leave your front door unlocked and know nothing would be taken because the locals were either family or friends.

She had once loved living there and now she assumed Pierce felt the same.

‘I was out at the McKenzies’ this morning. I drove there to check the setting was suitable after my plane touched down in Armidale.’

Pierce’s curiosity was further heightened but he said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself as he watched her nervously shift her stance. He had no right to question her or ask more about her than she was willing to offer. He was a private person. His past was off limits so why should hers be any different?

His life had effectively started when he’d come to Uralla two years before. He had never spoken about his past or his family, except to say that his aunt had been given custody of him after his parents had passed away when he was a child. The circle of people his father and mother had once called friends had never tried to make contact after the tragedy so they hadn’t factored into his thoughts as he’d grown older. When the parties on his parents’ yacht had ceased, so had their friends’ interest in Pierce.

However, their children had sought him out years later, when he’d been a young adult. At first he’d thought they’d actually cared about their friendship with him, but that belief had been short-lived when it had become clear these long-lost friends had only needed him to pay their tabs. It hadn’t taken long for Pierce to realise that all they really valued was his family money—especially the women. All eager to snare a wealthy husband, they never tried to hide their love of the luxury lifestyle they assumed he would lavish on them if they were to become his wife.

Pierce wanted none of it. He wanted what his parents had never had. Real friends. The type that didn’t care if your car was twenty years old and gave you a place to sleep if you needed it. Although he would never need to be given a helping hand with regard to money—he was indisputably one of the richest young men in Australia. His wealth, generated from his father’s mining and real estate interests, was handled by his business manager in Sydney.

And so, one day, when he’d realised he wanted more from his life, Pierce had simply disappeared from high society and moved to a town he had heard about during medical school. A town that he hoped he would be happy to call home.

The townsfolk never asked more than he was willing to give, they never pried into his past, and he was happy with that arrangement. Everything he’d done after driving down the New England Highway and into Uralla was on the table. Anything before that was not discussed. The circus that had been his life had dissipated just as he had hoped. His new life was too quiet and uneventful to create any interest in the media—in fact, many thought that his inheritance was all gone, the proceeds lost to bad investments.

Out of the eyes of the press, Pierce quietly directed the accountant to make donations in the company name to deserving causes. A silent philanthropist, he never used any of the money in his personal life. And he wouldn’t want it any other way. He knew who his friends were and without the family money there would be fewer enemies. Keeping his past to himself was working quite nicely.

Perhaps Laine had her reasons too. Clearly her accent was Australian, albeit with an international flavour, and he knew she was based in New York. He had just assumed she would have grown up in another big city like Sydney. But somehow she knew her way around Uralla.

‘I know the town, I spent some time here eons ago,’ Laine told him. She didn’t want to get into it so kept the explanation brief. ‘But it’s immaterial. I just need you there at four-thirty and then in the late afternoon I thought we’d head over to Saumarez Homestead. They have a barn with a spectacular panoramic view. I would like to capture you in the doorway just as the sun sets.’

‘Lighting, right?’

‘Yes, lighting and amazing scenery. New England is a stunning part of Australia and I want to do it justice,’ she said, then added, ‘Besides, the early morning shoot will allow you to see patients during the day and then we can head out again around five in the afternoon. Minimal disruption to your day and daylight saving will add value to mine, giving me sufficient time to set up my equipment and still catch the sunset.’

‘Yes, my patients,’ Pierce remarked. He felt slightly guilty that being so close to this woman had made him almost forget the day ahead. No woman had ever made such an impression in such a short space of time. She was a conundrum. He wanted to know more about her but he didn’t feel he had the right to ask too many questions. It was against his view of life, his belief in respecting privacy and boundaries. Suddenly those values began slipping as the desire to know everything he could about this woman began to grow. Her confidence was evident but it was not grandiose. She seemed so focused and serious. Almost a little too serious.

‘You really do have a feel for this town. I’m assuming it wasn’t a fleeting visit or, if it was, this sleepy enclave made an impression on you.’ He wasn’t able to mask his interest any longer—plus, there was also the chance she might open up just a little.

Laine took a deep breath. The town had left more than an impression. It had been the best and worst. The happiest and saddest. It had been her life and then it had ended. Laine knew she had to put the past behind her. She had an assignment to complete and a very different life waiting for her in New York and wherever in the world she was called to work next. Uralla had to remain business—sentiment didn’t pay dividends for her any more.

‘I will not intrude on any more of your time than I have to over the next couple of days, I promise,’ she replied, ignoring his comment. ‘But now I need to get these bags to my car and head back to my hotel. I have calls to make and emails to attend to this evening.’

‘Sure. Let me take one of those.’ Pierce accepted Laine’s right to pass on answering him and reached for one of her bags, walking to the back door of the practice. It was an old red-brick house that had been converted into three consulting rooms, an office and a small surgery for minor medical procedures. The large backyard—complete with a clothesline on a slight Tower of Pisa lean and a wire chicken coop housing four large laying hens—had been retained, with patient parking relegated to the street. It was picture-perfect country rustic.

Looking at her surroundings, Laine realised she had almost forgotten the relaxed feel of the country. Her designer, sparsely decorated apartment on the fourth floor of a Manhattan apartment building had none of that ambience. And it was of her choosing. Nothing she didn’t need and nothing she would miss when she was away. Streamlined and minimalist.

Focused on keeping childhood memories at bay, she followed Pierce through the yard and out of the back gate to where a large silver four-wheel-drive hire car was parked on the side of the road under the shade of a huge leafy tree. She opened the rear door and placed the equipment inside.

‘I’m staying at the Bushranger Inn down the street. I can come past and collect you in the morning or meet you there,’ she remarked casually as she closed the heavy door on her belongings. Trying to do the same to her thoughts, she made her way to the driver’s side. It was the opposite side from the left-hand drive she was accustomed to but, as a New Yorker who mainly took cabs around the city, she found adjusting wasn’t that difficult.

‘What about I pick you up and I drive us there?’ he returned.

‘I’m perfectly capable of driving both of us,’ she retorted, before she closed the door, turned on the engine and dropped the electric window. ‘But since you don’t want me to drive you, I’ll meet you there.’ Without another word, she put the car into gear and headed off in the direction of her hotel only half a mile down the road, leaving Pierce open-mouthed on the side of the road. Her exit was abrupt, to say the least.

Pierce had not meant to offend her. He had been trying to make up for his less-than-gracious attitude during the shoot with his offer. He quickly realised that what he had thought a gallant act had been something that she’d perceived as insulting, perhaps chauvinistic. He wasn’t entirely sure. Clearly he couldn’t win. She had driven off so hurriedly it had been as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.

‘What the hell was that about?’ he muttered as he walked inside. He was still shaking his head in frustration as he closed the back door and headed to the kitchen. Despite his best intentions to forget Laine, and her borderline rudeness, as he made his first coffee of the day the New York photographer had his full attention.

‘Good morning, dearie. Who was that motoring off at lightning speed down the road?’ came a voice behind him.

Pierce knew it was his receptionist Tracy, a retired nurse and wife of the former practice owner. Tracy worked three days a week, job-sharing with another local nurse.

‘Morning Trace,’ he replied, turning around with his coffee. ‘The racing-car driver you just missed was the New York photographer in town to shoot the charity calendar.’

‘Was she in a hurry or did you two have words? You seem a little stressed.’

‘You might say that,’ he said, then, noticing her face quickly develop a frown, he added, ‘I thought I was being a gentleman, but somehow I still managed to offend her.’

‘You know, if I’m to marry you off, young man you have to be nice to these young ladies. She was young, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, young and very beautiful.’

Tracy watched his face curiously. She hadn’t seen him look that way since she’d met him. The woman must be quite something for him to have this reaction.

‘Then you need to find a way to see her again.’ With that she put her lunch in the refrigerator and headed to the waiting room. Tracy knew that fewer words with Pierce always had a better response.

Pierce had already decided that was exactly what he would do after he finished the day. Thinking about how he could arrange it, he picked up his coffee, took a sip from the steaming cup and headed to his office to switch on his computer and check through the patient roster for the morning.

When Pierce had joined the practice two years previously, all the patient records had been hard-copy files with coloured coded spines. It had taken some convincing for the hesitant older partner, Dr Majors, to see the value in moving everything onto what Pierce had touted as a more efficient electronic system. It had meant hiring another administration person to transfer the patient records into the new format but after a sound argument from Pierce, Dr Majors had accepted a small trial. Once the older practitioner had seen the benefit of the system, he’d agreed that the new technology was needed across the entire practice and the surgery had made a much-needed move into the twenty-first century.

A few minutes later he stood in the doorway of the waiting room. ‘Carla Hollis, can you please come in?’ Stepping back, he let the young woman steer her pram into his consulting room, then closed the door and crossed back to his desk.

‘So how is little James today?’ he asked as Carla lifted her baby from the pram. ‘I see you’ve brought him in for his four-month immunisation.’

‘I have, but I’m not sure, Dr Armstrong, he doesn’t seem well today,’ she replied, nursing the infant on her lap. His quickly wriggled his feet free of the blue cotton blanket.

Pierce wheeled his chair closer to the pair. ‘In what way do you mean unwell? Can you be more specific?’

‘He’s had a slight runny nose for a few days now. It turned into a cough three days ago but last night I was up so often that I brought him into bed with us. He kept us awake for hours then finally stopped coughing about three in the morning,’ she said, pulling her long blonde plait free of his chubby fingers. ‘He still has an appetite and he’s been breastfeeding so maybe there’s nothing to worry about.’

Pierce took some disposable gloves from the dispenser on his desk. He slipped them on before he carefully unwrapped the little boy from his soft blue cocoon, lifted up his singlet and, in turn, placed the stethoscope on his chest then his back. Pierce pulled the clothing down again and placed a thermometer under his arm, holding it there for a few moments.

‘Any persistent cough is a concern in an infant and James also has a slight fever,’ he replied, after checking the reading. ‘It’s difficult to tell the difference between whooping cough and another respiratory infection, but I’d prefer to err on the side of caution. I’ll take a swab of his nose to test for the Bordetella pertussis bacterium, which indicates whooping cough, but I won’t wait for the results before we start antibiotics. The test can take time and it can quickly become serious in babies as young as James.’

‘But didn’t he have a shot for that when he was two months old?’

‘Yes, he did,’ Pierce responded as he stood, crossed to the consulting room trolley and collected what he needed to take a swab and returned to the mother and child. ‘That was the first of the three immunisations he requires. One at two months, the next at four months and again at six months. Unfortunately, until he has completed all three he can still contract whooping cough.’ Pierce gently held the infant’s head steady, took a sample from his nose and placed it into a sterile lab container.

‘But he will be all right, won’t he?’

‘I have no reason to think otherwise,’ Pierce answered as he discarded his gloves, sat back down at his desk and began completing the online patient records. ‘Has James been around anyone with a persistent cough?’

‘We had family visit from Tamworth on the weekend and my nieces were coughing all night. I kept James away from them but my sister insisted on holding him,’ Carla replied, as she lifted the child up and gently patted his back.

‘If James does have whooping cough, it’s very contagious. He may have contracted it from direct contact with someone infected with the bacterium—perhaps your sister—or by simply breathing the air within six feet of someone infected with the germs. The bacteria usually enter the nose or throat. We won’t know for sure until the test result comes back but until then please keep his fluids up. We don’t want to risk dehydration,’ Pierce said, as he pulled the script request from the printer and handed it to Carla.

‘If he becomes tired from coughing and can’t take a full feed, you will need to give him small regular feeds. Bring his bassinette into your room for the next few nights and keep an eye on him until the coughing has completely gone. Babies can develop apnoea as a complication of whooping cough, which means he may stop breathing for short periods.’

Suddenly the baby began a bout of coughing. It escalated quickly to a point where he was struggling for breath. Pierce immediately lifted him from his mother’s arms and supported him in an upright position to make breathing easier. The cough was severe and Pierce immediately knew that James had been infected for longer than his mother suspected and was past home care with antibiotics.

‘That’s how he coughed all last night,’ Carla gasped, and her eyes widened with concern at the infant’s condition.

‘It could be bronchiolitis or whooping cough but either way I want to transfer him to New England District hospital immediately. They are better equipped to help him through the illness. Antibiotics will need to be administered, as I first told you, but James needs to have oxygen delivered through a tiny mask during these coughing episodes.’

He stepped outside his consulting room and into the waiting area. ‘Tracy, can you call for an ambulance, please? Relay that it is not an emergency but we need a monitored transfer to New England District. Carla can’t drive and attend to James at the same time.’

Stepping back into the room where Carla sat, chewing her lip nervously, Pierce continued, ‘James will need to spend a while in hospital, but I want you to have this in case you need me.’ He handed her a card with his twenty-four-hour paging number. ‘And don’t hesitate to call if you have any concerns. One more thing, if it is confirmed that James has whooping cough, then the chances are high you will both will have contracted it, too. So if you get any sign of a cough, immediately begin antibiotics. If you don’t, it may take six to ten weeks to subside and nothing will make the recovery quicker once you pass the initial two-week period. Please call your sister too and get her off to her family GP in Tamworth as soon as possible.’

‘My husband was coughing last night too, so I’ll get him onto the antibiotics tonight. Should I give him a cough suppressant so he can sleep?’ Carla asked, as she gently placed the now quiet baby back into his pram to await the ambulance.

‘I don’t recommend it. I’d prefer to let him cough. It’s what the body naturally does when it needs to clear the lungs of mucus and I prefer not to suppress that reaction.’

Carla stood up and took the new script that Pierce held out to her. ‘I’ll give the hospital a call later and speak to the paediatrician about the treatment plan for James.’ With that he wheeled the pram through the waiting room and directed Carla into the spare consulting room. ‘The ambulance should be here quite soon but until then you can wait here comfortably.’

Pierce explained to Tracy his reasoning for keeping Carla separate from the waiting patients. If he was correct with his diagnosis of James, he suspected that over the next few days there would be a few more of their family and friends appearing with whooping cough but at least keeping Carla isolated until the ambulance arrived might help those in the surgery that morning.

Laine turned into the narrow driveway of her motel, past Reception and continued driving down to her room. She pulled up at the front of the Ned Kelly room, her cosy home for the three-night stay. She had checked in a few hours earlier. She unpacked her equipment from the car and carefully stacked it up against the wall inside her room. It didn’t take too long before the car was empty and her room looked like a photographic warehouse.

Tossing her sunglasses and keys on the bed, she crossed to the window and pulled it open to enjoy the fresh air. It felt so good to fill her lungs. It was a welcome change to the hotels where she routinely stayed. Her usual accommodation was elegant and never less than five star, but there was also never a window to be opened and always an abundance of pollution in most major cities when she stepped outside.

Laine stood motionless, looking out across the open paddock, and thought back to when she’d lived in the town. It had been over a decade ago but nothing much appeared to have changed.

Part of her wanted to take a walk around her old town. To feel like she belonged, the way it had been all those years ago. Now she was a stranger in her home town. But she didn’t want to come face to face with the people who had been like her extended family when she’d been growing up—there was still the chance they might recognise her. It had been twelve long years and she certainly wasn’t the Melanie they would remember.

Quite apart from her new name, she had grown out her trademark super-short pixie cut, the chubbiness of her baby face even as a teenager had been replaced by an elongated profile and her braces were long gone. The awkward teen with the tomboy dress sense, who would milk the cows, help to plant the crops, shoo away the crows and look forward to a twenty-minute car trip into Armidale as if there were no bigger treat possible, no longer existed. She had left that life far behind. She didn’t belong in this town any more.

Laine walked away from the window with her heart suddenly, and unexpectedly, aching for her past. And even more for what had been taken from her. She kicked off her designer espadrilles and lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Her eyes closed and her mind slipped back to a happy time. A time when she’d felt loved and protected and wanted. Turning on her side, she felt a tear slip from her eye and roll down her cheek. It had been many years since she had stopped and yearned for that time in her life.

She wiped the tear away with the back of her hand, and silently berated herself for being swept up in emotions after only a few hours of being in the town. It was silly. Melancholy musings had no place in her life. She was an independent woman with no ties, just the way she liked it. The way it needed to be, she told herself, before she drifted off for a much-needed nap. The frantic six-week schedule she had given herself hadn’t factored in any down time between shoots and flights and finally it had caught up with her.

Hours later she was woken from her slumber by a knock at the door.

Laine sat upright, staring at the wooden door, with no clue as to who would be on the other side. Waking with memories still so close to the surface, it quickly took Laine back to a time when she would run from a knock at the door. When she had felt sure someone was coming to take her away from the loving home she had found. Earlier in her childhood, the knock had signalled that the authorities had been called and a decision made to move her to the next placement. She became numb and often didn’t care as she’d been leaving a less-than-pleasant situation, but all that had changed when she’d come to live with the Phillips family and found a place she’d truly wanted to call home. Then the knock would send her scurrying to hide so that they couldn’t find her and rip her away from a place where she felt safe. Over time, with help from her new parents, she’d learnt that a knock did not signal something ominous. It merely meant visitors were arriving and she learnt to embrace the sound.

Then there was Manhattan, where no one knocked on her door unexpectedly. They had to call from the lobby and she or the concierge had to let them up. Laine liked it that way.

She quickly looked around the clean motel room. The housekeeping was done. There was no reason for anyone to be calling on her. No one knew she was in town. The arrangement to use the McKenzie property had been done by a third party so they had no knowledge she was in town.

‘Laine, it’s Pierce,’ came the deep voice from the other side of the door. She could hear him clearly. There was no other noise. No sounds of taxi horns or police sirens or people partying in the room above. For a brief moment Laine found comfort in the silence. It was so peaceful until the knocking started again.

‘I’ve finished up for the day and thought we might grab a bite to eat,’ he suggested tentatively through the still-closed door. ‘If you’re up to it.’

Laine was hungry but the thought of spending more time than absolutely necessary with Pierce was unsettling. He was an incredibly attractive man with charisma and home-grown charm and she was feeling slightly vulnerable, being back in this town. It was as if the warm memories of her past were trying to thaw her now cold outlook on life. She didn’t like the feeling at all. She didn’t like having her resolve questioned.

Pretending to be asleep wasn’t as option as it was only seven o’clock. So, grudgingly, she climbed from the bed and made her way barefoot to the door.

‘About dinner, I’m not sure,’ she began as she opened the door. Pierce was leaning against the wall, dressed in jeans, one dusty boot having caught the lip of a red brick. His grey checked shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, hiding the perfectly toned chest she’d already been privy to. He was handsome in any light but it wasn’t an arrogant or cocky assurance he had. It was the confidence a man had when he knew himself. One who wasn’t searching for anything. One who had found what he was looking for. She wondered for a moment if Pierce had found himself in Uralla or had he arrived already content?

He dropped his booted foot to the ground and turned to face her. ‘I’m heading to the top pub for a quick meal and I thought you might like to join me.’

His smile was perfect but more than that it was genuine. Laine was accustomed to the perfect smile that a model managed to show on cue but with no actual meaning behind it. Her stomach fluttered. Another feeling she was not expecting or enjoying. Her mind told her to feign a headache and slam the door but the clear country evening with a hint of his cologne convinced her heart to accept his invitation.

‘I guess that would be okay.’

She was surprised by her own reaction. She was not spontaneous like this. She always weighed up all the options and then, after careful consideration through a jaded lens, she chose the one that would best fit her schedule. On the way to retrieve her purse from her backpack near the window, Laine heard alarm bells ringing in her head. They were as clear as every other sound she had heard since she had arrived in the quiet little town that morning, but they were in her own mind and her heart quickly shut them down as she slipped her espadrilles back on.

Something was driving her to spend time with the man at her door. And her cold New York reasoning was losing this battle. Her head was in a spin and she was going with it, even if it was against her usual calculated judgement.

‘I think this will go well,’ he remarked, as she closed the door to her room. ‘Neither of us has to drive as it’s walking distance so I can’t offend you again.’

Laine allowed her mouth to curve into a smile as they made their way up the bitumen driveway to the main road.

‘So they still call them the top pub and the bottom pub?’

‘Yes, not sure why really but no one ever says meet you at the Coachwood and Cedar or the Thunderbolt, it’s just the top or bottom pub.’

Laine smiled again at the way nothing had changed, but it was a bittersweet smile as they walked past the bottom pub and spied numerous patrons outside, enjoying a beer and a chat in the balmy evening breeze. She reminded herself she would only be in town for a few days and that after that her life would return to the one she knew. The life she had grown accustomed to. A life on her own on the other side of the world. And with any luck no one would recognise her tonight or any time over the next few days.

They meandered their way to their choice of venue for the evening, only a block away. It was a small town but the locals still managed to support two hotels and a number of cafés and restaurants.

Pierce held the door open and they stepped inside. It was hive of activity. It was mid-week and still busy. There was a drone of patrons’ happy chatter and clinking of glasses as they walked through the front bar towards the dining section.

‘G’day, Doc,’ came a gruff voice just before they reached the dining area, followed by a hearty pat on Pierce’s back. ‘Who’s the pretty lady? Even blind as a bat without my glasses I can see she’s beautiful. And just to let you know, I’ll be disappointed if you tell me she’s your sister.’

Laine saw the older man smiling in her direction. She recognised him immediately but realised he didn’t have the same recollection. Her stomach dropped. It was Jim Patterson, her father’s best friend. He had more silver in his still thick wavy hair and his face was a little more lined but the twinkle in his blue eyes hadn’t changed at all. For thirty years, the pair would relax over a cold beer on a Sunday afternoon on the back veranda. Jim was older than her father by quite a few years but they had struck up a friendship while working on the land as jackeroos when Arthur had just left school and Jim had been in his late twenties. Laine had gone to school with two of his four sons. She looked at Jim’s face and for a moment she thought he might have remembered but she could see there was nothing. She was relieved that his vision was challenged without his glasses.

‘Jim,’ Pierce said, stepping back to let the old man closer to Laine. ‘This is Laine. She’s a photographer from New York.’

‘New York, hey?’ He laughed. ‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you but old Uralla is a long way from your neck of the woods, young lady. What brings you from the Big Apple to our little town?’

‘An assignment actually,’ she replied, meeting the older man’s handshake. ‘I’m shooting a charity calendar to aid FCTP. Foster Children’s Transition Programme. Pierce is my final subject.’

The old man nudged Pierce in the ribs and laughed again. ‘So, you’re a pin-up now? Uralla’s own poster boy. Well, that’s a hoot.’ Then he turned his attention back to Laine. ‘You’re not shooting him in his boxers, though, are you, love? That wouldn’t be something I’d want on the wall, but then again maybe the ladies would like it.’

Laine smiled at Jim and remembered he always had a great sense of humour. When he lost Claire he was beside himself with grief but the townsfolk lifted his spirits and made sure he was never alone. They cooked meals, helped him take care of his sons as the youngest was only eight, and they carried him through the sadness to a better place. And clearly he had stayed there and was back to his old self.

‘Not his boxers. He’s in jeans but that’s about it.’ Laine smirked as she watched Pierce’s face fall.

‘Enough of that,’ he announced, changing the subject. ‘I’ll let you go, Jim, so we can get a table.’ Turning his full attention to Laine, he added, ‘Maybe we can talk about your history with Uralla? “Eons ago” was the term you used. I was hoping over a glass of wine you might elaborate on that just a little.’ Pierce pulled out a chair for Laine.

Laine suddenly felt a cold shiver run over her before a large lump formed in her throat. Accepting the dinner invitation had been a huge mistake. She had been fooling herself to think she could enjoy dinner with Pierce and not have to talk about herself and her connection to the town. She didn’t talk about herself. Not ever. Her private life was a closed book and she intended to keep it that way. She thought he had accepted that but apparently not. The night had to end. Now.

‘I’m sorry, Pierce, I completely forgot there’s a call I need to make to one of my editors in the US. I’ll be crucified if I don’t do it,’ she lied, moving away from the chair and Pierce. ‘You eat and if I finish quickly, I’ll come back and join you,’ she lied again, before she made her way back through the crowded front bar. Laine had no intention of returning for a dinner she anticipated would spiral into the Spanish Inquisition.

With that, she rushed out of the top pub, leaving Pierce alone, and made her way down the street. Anxiously she looked back over her shoulder once or twice and when she felt confident that Pierce was not following her, she ran into the bottom pub and sat down at the furthest table from the door. Her stomach was feeling empty from hunger and churning with nerves. She wasn’t sure if the motel restaurant would be open, so she decided to grab a quick meal at the pub then head back to her room.

Dinner with Pierce would have been impossible. She had been naïve to accept the invitation and not expect that it would mean bringing up the past. Losing her family in Uralla gave her more heartache than she’d thought possible for one person to bear and she had no intention of discussing it.

Putting her life in Australia behind her had been easy in a big city with her high-profile career to keep her busy. And that’s what she needed now. She didn’t need dinner and question time with a country doctor.

‘Here’s the menu,’ the young waitress said, as she placed the glossy card on the table for Laine. ‘And we have some specials as well on the board over there. Can I get you a drink?’

Laine ordered a tonic and lime and glanced over the menu quickly, choosing grilled salmon. The waitress jotted down the order on her small pad, scooped up the menu and headed to the bar.

With a heartfelt sigh, Laine looked around the room. It was less noisy than the top pub but the locals were still engaged in friendly repartee and she could hear laughter and the clicking of billiard balls on the pool table in the next room. A dark purple-coloured outback mural decorated part of one wall. The old chairs she remembered had all been replaced with new light-coloured wooden ones but the atmosphere hadn’t changed. Taking a sip of her drink, which had arrived quickly, she hoped the food would be served quickly too.

Laine wanted to finish the shoot, leave Uralla and head back to New York. This was her last stop of the calendar assignment. Editing would take another two weeks, followed by a few weeks off, and then in March she would be heading to Rome. After that who knew where she would be? It didn’t matter as long as she was on the go and not putting down roots anywhere. There would be another shoot for the American arm of FCTP towards the middle of the year and then back to Sydney for a quick visit for the annual fundraiser around Christmas. Sydney, she told herself, not