Kitabı oku: «The Outback Doctor's Surprise Bride»

CHAPTER ONE

DR JAMES REMINGTON flipped open his visor as he sped down the arrow-straight highway. He revelled in the power of the vintage Harley engine growling between his legs, the air on his cheeks and the way the softening light of the encroaching dusk blanketed the thick bush in its ghostly splendour.

He raised his face to the sky and let out a long joyous whoop, his gypsy heart singing. This was the life. The open road. The sun on your face. The wind at your back. Freedom. He felt a surge of pleasure rise in his chest as a familiar affinity with the environment enveloped him. He felt a part of the land.

A solitary road sign appeared in the distance, announcing Skye, his destination, was only five kilometres away. It loomed large and then was gone in the blink of an eye. He felt anticipation heighten his senses. On a deeper level an unwanted thought intruded. Maybe this time he’d find what he was looking for. A place to hang up his helmet. A place to call home.

He shook his head to quell the ridiculous childhood longing. The wind was on his face, he had freedom—why did he need roots? The township of Skye was just another outback stop in the many he’d made in the last few years. And after Skye there’d be another and then another until he reached the Cape and then he’d…figure out his next move then.

The road started to twist and turn a little as it wended its way through thick stands of gumtrees and heavy bush. James eased back on his speed as he leant into the curves, enjoying the zigzag of the powerful bike.

He rounded a bend and came face to face with his worst nightmare. His headlights caught the silhouettes of several cows meandering across the highway in the waning light. He had seconds to respond. He braked and swerved and in the split second before his bike slid out from underneath him and he was catapulted across the tar, James knew that, whatever happened next, it wasn’t going to be good.

Helen Franklin was annoyed. It was nine p.m. She’d been hanging around for a couple of hours, waiting for the locum doctor to arrive. Had he arrived? No. His bags had arrived by courier earlier but he was still a no-show. The casserole she’d cooked for him sat uneaten in the fridge.

She could be at the Drovers’ Arms, joining in the weekly trivia night. Her team was at the top of the table and she hated missing it. She’d tried phoning his mobile number the agency had furnished her with a few times but had had no response. Not that that necessarily meant anything. Mobile phone reception out here was dodgy at best between towns and only marginally better in them.

An uneasy feeling bunched the muscles at her neck and she hoped some catastrophe hadn’t befallen him. But as he was only two hours late she doubted she’d manage to convince anyone to send out a search party for him. No, she just had to wait and hope that he showed or at least rang in to explain.

He’d probably just changed his mind about coming to Skye and hadn’t bothered to tell anyone. Country towns were notoriously hard to attract medical staff to. She’d had a request in for a locum since Genevieve had announced her pregnancy and she was now thirty-six weeks gone.

Well, damn it all, she wasn’t going to hang around all night, waiting, when the new doctor couldn’t even be bothered to let her know of his delay. He’d better be here by the start of business tomorrow, though. Genevieve should have given up work a month ago. Her blood pressure was borderline and her ankles were starting to swell. She needed the break. She’d admitted only yesterday that she was completely exhausted by lunchtime most days.

Helen left a terse note on the dining-room table, gathered her stuff and left, pulling the door closed behind her. There was no need for a key. This was Skye. Nobody locked their doors. And when she saw him in the morning, she was going to give Dr James Remington a piece of her mind, and if that set the tone with her flatmate for the next four months then so be it.

James woke to birdsong and the first rays of sunlight stabbing at his closed lids. The pain in his right leg grabbed at him again and he gritted his teeth. He felt like hell. He’d had a fitful night’s sleep on the hard ground. He was hungry, his bladder was full and his mouth tasted as if an insect had crawled inside during the night and died there.

His broken leg throbbed unmercilessly despite the splint he’d managed to fashion from the branch of a tree. At least it was daylight now. His hopes of rescue had improved dramatically. He looked at his watch. He was now twelve hours past his ETA—surely someone would be worrying?

All he had to do was get himself to the roadside and hope that the highway to Skye was busier during the day than it had been during the long hours he’d lain in the dark. He’d only heard two vehicles all night. The bitumen was probably only a few metres or so away, but he knew just from the small amount of moving he’d done after the accident that with his broken leg, it was going to feel like a kilometre by the time he’d got there.

He’d decided against moving too far last night. Dusk had turned to darkness quickly and visibility had been a problem. The night was impossibly black out here, the bush incredibly thick. Through a mammoth effort he’d managed to drag himself over to his nearby bike. He hadn’t been able to see it and had had to rely on his sense of hearing, heading towards the sound of the still running engine.

Thirty minutes later he’d been sweating with effort and the excruciating pain of every bump jolting through his injured leg. He’d pulled his torch out of his bike’s tote bag and located some paltry first-aid supplies to help him with his leg. He’d had his swag and some water and with his mobile phone showing no reception, he’d known he was there till the morning.

As tempting as it had been to push himself, he had known it would be sensible to wait for daylight. Apart from his leg and some minor scratches, he’d escaped remarkably uninjured so the last thing he’d needed had been to reach the road and then be run over by an unsuspecting car. He was in black leathers and a black T-shirt. Even his hair was black. He had hardly been the most visible thing in the inky outback night.

James relieved himself with difficulty and with one final look back at his bike gritted his teeth and began the slow arduous crawl through the bush to the road.

Helen woke to the ringing phone just before six a.m. and was dismayed to find the spare bedroom not slept in and the note she’d left last night untouched on the table. She’d come home from the pub to an empty house but had hoped the missing locum had crept in during the night.

She answered the phone tersely, preparing to give James Remington a good lecture. But it was only Elsie and she spent ten minutes listening to the latest calamity before she was able to get off the phone. Damn it! James Remington had better have a good excuse for his tardiness.

A feeling of unease crept over her again and she quickly punched in the local policeman’s number.

His sleepy voice answered. ‘Sorry, Reg, it’s Helen. I know it’s early. I hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘It’s fine. What’s up?’

‘The new doctor still hasn’t shown. Have there been any accident reports?’

‘Not that I know of. Do you think something’s happened?’

‘Not sure.’

‘I’m sure he’s fine, Helen. Like I said last night, he’s probably just been delayed.’

‘Probably,’ she agreed, thinking dark thoughts about their new locum.

‘He’d have to be missing for at least twenty-four hours before we could mount an official investigation.’

‘I know.’

‘But if you’re worried I can start making some enquiries straight away. I can take the patrol car down the highway a bit.’

Helen pursed her lips, unsure. She knew Reg was probably right but she couldn’t shake a nagging sense of unease. ‘No, it’s OK. I’m off to Elsie’s now. Some of their stock broke through a fence last night and she’s all het up. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. I’ll ring later if I still haven’t heard from him.’

She rang off and looked around the empty house. You’d better be in a ditch or laid low by a severe illness, James Remington, because this is just plain rude.

James grunted as he inched himself slowly closer on his bottom. His movements were awkward, like a dyslexic crab. His arms were behind him, his left leg, bent at the knee, was used to push himself backward as his right leg slowly dragged against the ground as it followed.

The morning sun wasn’t even high in the sky yet and he was sweating profusely. Although his leathers contributed, it was pain that caused moisture to bead above his lip and on his forehead. Every movement was agony, his leg protesting the slightest advance. He’d have given anything for a painkiller.

At just about halfway there he lay back to rest for a moment, the road now in sight. A silver car flashed by and he raised his hand and yelled out in the vain hope that he was spotted. Of course, it was futile—he was still that little bit too far away to be detected.

But he was slightly cheered by the presence of traffic. All he had to do was get the rest of the way and wait for the next car to come along.

Helen left Elsie’s still distracted by their missing locum. The Desmond farm was on the outskirts of Skye and her little silver car knew the way intimately. Helen had lived with Elsie and her family on and off most of her life, permanently from the age of twelve after her mother’s death.

Her mother’s mental health had always been fragile, necessitating numerous hospital admissions, and her gypsy father, overwhelmed by his wife’s problems and gutted by her eventual demise, had been ill equipped to care for his daughter. He’d flitted in and out of Skye as the whim had taken him, leaving Elsie to raise her.

And she had, providing stability and a much-needed loving home despite the fact that she had also been raising Duncan and Rodney, her grandsons, after their father—Elsie’s son—and mother had been killed in a car accident. Duncan, who had stayed in Skye to run the farm, was the same age as Helen and they were still close.

At eighty, Elsie was a much-loved part of the family. She still lived at the homestead and now Duncan’s children were benefiting from Elsie’s love and eternal patience. Unfortunately in the last couple of years Elsie’s health had started to fail and things that once would never have bothered her now weighed on her mind.

More often than not, when she was in a state, it was Helen she phoned. Duncan was busy with the farm and Denise with the kids and Helen never minded. It was the least she could do for a woman who had helped her through some of the darkest times of her life.

She knew that half an hour of chit-chat and a good cup of tea soon put Elsie right. How often had Elsie taken the time to allay Helen’s own fears as she’d lain awake at night, scared about the future? Elsie’s hugs and calm, crackly voice had soothed her anxieties and had always loosened the knot that had seemed to be permanently present in her stomach. Easing the old woman’s own fears now was never a hardship.

Helen put thoughts of Elsie aside as she concentrated on the road. Her eyes scanned either side and checked the rear-view mirror frequently. Just in case.

James mopped at his face with his bandana. He was nearly there. So close. He could hear a car approaching from a good distance away and he tried to move the last few metres quickly. Pain tore through his leg and halted his desperate movements. He swore out loud as he realised by the sound of the rapidly approaching engine he wasn’t going to make it in time for this car.

In a final act of desperation he stuck up his arm and frantically waved the red bandana, even though he could tell the car had already passed. He lay back and bellowed in frustration.

Helen’s gaze flicked to her rear-view mirror. Her eyes caught a blur of movement. Something red. She took her foot off the accelerator. She didn’t know why. It was probably nothing. She searched the mirror again. Nothing. It was gone. But the same feeling of unease she’d had since last night was gnawing at her gut. The car had slowed right down and acting purely on instinct she pulled over and performed a quick U-turn.

She drove back slowly towards where she had seen the flicker of red. Her green eyes searched the side of the road. Nothing but red dirt and brown bush greeted her. She’d almost given up when she saw him. A figure lying just off the edge of the road.

‘Hell!’ She braked and sprang out of the car, giving the highway only a cursory glance as she crossed it to get to him.

James could see a woman’s legs as she strode towards him. She was in long baggy navy shorts that fell to just above her well-defined knees. They were nice legs. Tanned. Smooth. In fact, they were the best damn set of legs he’d ever seen. He’d never been so happy to see a set of legs ever in his life.

If he hadn’t been in so much pain he would have laughed. James Remington, gypsy loner, who prided himself on being beholden to no one, was so grateful to this set of legs he’d have traded his bike for them. He shut his eyes and rubbed his St Christopher medallion thankfully.

Helen threw herself down in the dirt beside him. Was this her locum? He looked younger than she’d expected. ‘Are you OK?’ she demanded, clutching at his jacket.

James opened his eyes and found himself staring into her worried green gaze. Her eyes looked like cool chips of jade. Amber flecks added a touch of heat. It was the only time a demanding woman hadn’t scared the hell out of him. In fact, had he not been practically incapacitated with pain, he would have kissed her.

‘I am now.’ He struggled to sit up.

‘No, don’t move,’ Helen said, pushing him back against the ground. ‘Are you James Remington?’ she asked as she ran her hands methodically over his body, searching for injuries. Her hands moved dispassionately through his thick wavy hair, feeling for any irregularities or head injuries. Down his neck. Along his collar bones to his shoulders.

He wasn’t surprised that she knew who he was. Maybe he should have been but the pain was all-encompassing. As her hands moved lower to feel his chest, push around his rib cage and palpate his abdomen he absently realised he would normally have cracked a joke by now. The pain was obviously altering his persona.

He was pretty suave with the ladies but he’d never had one become so intimately acquainted with his body so quickly. She had a nice face and a distracting prim ponytail that swished from side to side as she assessed his injuries.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said as her hands gripped his hip bones and she applied pressure down through them, glancing at him with a cocked eyebrow in a silent query. He shook his head.

‘We’ve been worried about you,’ she said. ‘What happened?’ Helen felt methodically down his left leg from groin to toes.

As her fingers brushed his inner thigh James felt his body react despite the pain in his other leg. ‘Came off my bike. Cows on the road.’ He grimaced.

‘Ah. Elsie’s,’ she said absently as she concentrated on his other leg, starting again in his right groin. ‘You been out here all night?’

‘Yup. Look, I’m fine,’ James said, batting her hand away. ‘It’s just my right leg. The tibia’s broken.’

Helen sat back on her haunches and surveyed the crude but effective splint. She didn’t want to disturb it if she didn’t have to. ‘Is it closed or open?’

‘Closed,’ he confirmed. He’d cut open his jeans to investigate the damage by torchlight last night.

‘Were you knocked out?’

‘No. Conscious the whole time.’

She nodded, grateful to discover that he didn’t appear to be too injured at all and trying not to dwell on the fact that their desperately needed locum was now totally useless to them. Helen made a mental note to get onto the agency as soon as she could to organise a replacement.

‘Well, we’d better get you to Skye. Do you think between us we can manage to get you into my car? It’ll be quicker than calling the ambulance.’

James ran assessing eyes over her. He doubted she’d be much help at all, there wasn’t much to her. But he was strong and at the moment he’d go with any option that got him to medical attention as fast as possible. ‘Sure.’

Helen nodded and left him to bring her car closer. She performed another U-turn and pulled it up as close to James as possible. She opened the back door.

‘You might as well lie along the back seat.’

Helen hoped she’d sounded more confident than she felt. Looking down at him, she wondered how they were going to manage it. There was a lot of him. He was a tall, beefy guy, his build evident despite his recumbent posture.

She remembered the things she had resolutely ignored during her assessment of him. The bulk of his chest, the span of his biceps and the thickness of his quads beneath her hands. He was all man. Still, his musculature had hinted that he took good care of himself. She hoped so. She hoped he was strong enough to lift his bulk because at a petite five two he dwarfed her.

James looked behind him and shuffled his bottom until he was lined up with the open door. ‘I can lift myself in if you can support my leg.’

Helen nodded. She knelt to position her hands beneath his splint. She felt him tense and glanced up at him. She noticed the blueness of his eyes for the first time. They were breathtaking. A magnificent turquoise fringed by long sooty lashes. Was it fair for a man to have such beautiful eyes?

She blinked. ‘Does it hurt?’

He nodded.

Even through his overnight growth of stubble she noticed the tautness around his mouth and realised what it was costing him to sit stoically.

‘It’s going to hurt more,’ she said softly, knowing there was no way they could accomplish the next manoeuvres without causing more pain.

He nodded again. ‘I know.’

‘We could wait for Tom. He carries morphine in the ambulance.’

He shook his head and she watched as his thick wavy hair with its occasional grey streaks bounced with the movement and fell across his forehead.

‘No. Let’s just get it over with.’

She nodded. ‘Ready?’

James placed his hands on the car behind him, bent his left leg again and pushed down through his triceps, lifting his bottom off the ground. A pain tore through his fracture site and he grunted and screwed up his face as he placed his rear in the footwell. He shut his eyes and bit his tongue to stop from groaning out loud at the agony seizing his leg.

‘You OK?’ Helen asked, supporting his leg gently as she noted the sweat beading his brow and his laboured breathing.

James nodded. He felt nausea wash through his system as the pain gnawed away unabated. He had to keep going. If he stopped now he’d never get himself in the car and the pain would kill him. He placed one hand up on the seat and repeated the movement again, lifting his buttocks onto the padded material.

James muttered an expletive and then looked at Helen with apologetic eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he panted.

Helen grinned. ‘Quite all right. I think a swear word is entirely appropriate, given the circumstances.’

‘Hardly appropriate in front of a lady.’ He grimaced.

Helen looked around her and threw a glance over her shoulder before turning back to face him. ‘No ladies here.’

He gave a hearty chuckle and then broke off as pain lanced through his leg and he clutched at the splint. ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ he groaned.

‘Whatever the doctor orders.’ She grinned.

She held his leg while he shuffled back in the seat and helped him manoeuvre into a position of comfort. Well, of less pain anyway. He dwarfed the back seat. It was impossible for him to recline. Instead, he sat in a semi-supported position, the door propping him up.

‘I have some cushions in the boot. Hang tight.’

James closed his eyes wearily feeling grittiness rub like sandpaper against his lids. Where the hell was he going to go?

Helen arranged two cushions around his fractured leg to try and support it better. She shut the door and moved around to the driver’s side, opening her door and flipping her seat out of the way.

‘Here, put this behind your shoulders. Might make the ride a little more comfortable.’

She levered him forwards and stuffed the cushion behind his back, fussing a little to get it just right. James caught a whiff of her perfume and opened his eyes. They were level with her chest and he could see the pink lace of her bra and the curve of her breast as she leaned over him to adjust the cushion.

He shut his eyes again in case she thought he was staring at her breasts, and her ponytail brushed lightly against his face. Her hair was nut brown and smelled like roses. It swished back and forth a few times, caressing his face, and after a night in the cold, dark bush it was strangely comforting. He wanted to wrap it around his fist and pull her closer.

‘All set?’ she asked.

James slowly opened his eyes. He nodded and smiled. She turned to go and he put a stilling hand on her shoulder. ‘Thank you. I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Helen. Helen Franklin.’

‘Ah. The nurse. That explains your tender touch.’

Helen stilled, suddenly mesmerised by his blue eyes. He was without a doubt the best-looking man she’d ever met. She’d not risked such thinking until now, but it was the inescapable truth.

‘Yeah, well, don’t count your chickens,’ she quipped, pulling away from his touch and resetting her seat. ‘We’ve got a few kilometres of potholed highway to travel first. I’m sure by the end of that you’ll have changed your mind.’

Helen buckled up and started the car.

‘Be gentle with me, Helen.’

Her eyes flew to the rear-view mirror and found his blue flirty gaze staring back at her. He was teasing her. Great. Not only sexy but flirty, too. Fortunately, she knew the type well. Her own father was a classic example. It was typical that not even a broken leg could stymie the natural urge men like James felt to flirt.

But there was a shadow in his eyes that she recognised, too. Something that haunted him. Maybe it was just the pain. But maybe, like her father, it was something deeper, older. Something that he’d carried around for many years. Something that made him wary. Something that made him guarded.

Something that made him…intriguing.

Something that was a big flashing neon sign to her and all women to stay the hell away. Charming and charismatic had their good points but there was always a down side. She’d seen enough to know that men like James Remington, like her father, wouldn’t be held back or held still.

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Hang tight.’

She let the tyres spin a few times as she skidded away.

They made it to the hospital ten minutes later and within half an hour James had been X-rayed and given a shot of morphine.

Helen checked her watch. If she didn’t go now she was going to be late for work. They were already one doctor down, necessitating the need for Genevieve to take a patient load when she was supposed to only be working two half-days to show James the ropes before commencing her maternity leave.

Helen worried about Skye’s only general practice and what they were going to do without a replacement for Genevieve as she gently drew back the curtain that had been pulled around his cubicle. James lay on the gurney, his eyes shut, his size taking up its entire length, his feet hanging over the end.

He was shirtless and her mouth dried as her gaze skimmed over the planes and angles of his smooth, tanned chest and abdomen. A silver chain hung around his neck, a dainty medallion hanging from it. It looked surprisingly manly and strangely erotic sitting against his broad bare flesh and her fingers itched to touch it.

A light smattering of hair around his flat nipples was tantalising and she followed a trail of hair that arrowed down from his belly button until the sheet cut the rest from her view.

He shifted a little and she looked away from his abdomen, feeling a jolt of guilt at such voyeurism. He smiled to himself and Helen watched as a dimple in his chin transformed his stubbled features from Greek God-like to pure wicked. He looked relaxed for the first time since she’d met him, no tense lines around his mouth or frown marring the gap between his eyebrows.

James was drifting through space, floating. It felt good and he almost sighed as pink lace and roses flitted through the fog in his head. He felt the swish of her hair against his face again, across his lips, and it was as if she’d stroked her hand down his stomach. He could feel himself reaching for her, hear himself murmur her name.

He jolted awake and grabbed the side rails of the gurney as the sensation of falling played tricks with his equilibrium. His foggy mind took a moment to focus and when it did he found himself staring across into green eyes.

‘Morphine dreaming?’ She smiled.

James had never had anything stronger than paracetamol in his life before so he supposed that was exactly what he’d been doing. ‘Strong stuff.’ He grimaced.

The floating sensation had been pleasant and the relief from the constant feeling that his leg was in a vice was most welcome, but the sense of not being fully in control of his body was disconcerting and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. He was always in control. He’d spent too many childhood years feeling helpless to be remotely comfortable with this drug-induced vulnerability.

‘I hear you copped a lucky break.’

James grinned at her joke despite the odd feeling of being outside his body. ‘Yes, simple fracture of the tibia, not displaced. Long leg cast for six weeks.’

‘You got off very easy.’

‘Indeed.’ James remembered the worst-case scenarios that had careened through his mind as he had been hurled into the bush and knew that he could just as easily be dead or very seriously injured. ‘How’s my bike?’

She rolled her eyes. Of course, he would be worrying about the machine. ‘Alf’s recovering it now.’

‘You don’t approve?’

She shrugged. She was a nurse. Orthopaedic wards were full of motorbike victims. ‘Mighty thin doors. No seat belts.’

He regarded her seriously, her no-nonsense ponytail swishing slightly as she spoke. Not a single hair had managed to escape. He grinned. ‘You need to live a little. Nothing like the wind on your face, whipping through your hair.’

Helen sucked in a quick breath as his smile made his impossibly handsome face even more so. It made him look every inch the freedom-loving highway gypsy he so obviously was. She understood the pull of the wind in your face—she’d often ridden on the back of her father’s bike over the years. But a life of chronic instability had left her with feet firmly planted on the ground.

‘I have to get to work. I’ll check back in on my lunch-break. Can I bring you anything?’

James shut his eyes as the room started to spin again. ‘Food. I’m starving.’

She laughed. ‘They do feed you here, you know.’

‘Hospital food,’ he groaned. ‘I want proper stuff.’

‘Like?’

James thought hard as the foggy feeling started to take control again. He allowed it to dictate his stomach’s needs. He rubbed his hand absently over his hungry belly. ‘Pie. Chips with gravy. And a beer.’

Helen laughed again and tried not to be distracted by the slipping of the sheet as his hand absently stroked his stomach. Pies were her favourite bakery item. ‘A pie and chips I can do. Don’t think morphine and beer are a good mix, though.’

James opened one eye. ‘Sister Helen Franklin, you are a spoilsport.’

‘Yeah, well, I also sign your cheques so be nice.’

He chuckled and, despite his efforts to fight it, a wave of fog drifted him back into the floating abyss. Being nice to Helen conjured up some very delectable images and with his last skerrick of good sense he hoped it was just the morphine. The feel of her hair in his face and her pink lace was already too interesting fodder for his narcotic-induced fantasies.