City Surgeon, Small Town Miracle

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE woke and sun was streaming in the windows. Max was kneeling in front of the fire and it was morning.

It was well into morning. Her eyes flew open, she stared at the sunlight flooding the room and thought this was no dawn light.

Her eyes flew to the grandfather clock in the corner and as if on cue it started to boom.

Nine booms. Nine o’clock!

‘And how any of you ever sleep with that thing is a mystery,’ Max murmured, kneeling to blow on the embers as she stared at the clock as if it had betrayed her. The embers leapt to life-of course. Would they dare not if this man ordered?

He looked… He looked…

Much cleaner than last night, for a start. He looked like he’d showered. He was wearing clean jeans and a clean shirt, though he had the sleeves rolled up as if he meant business.

He looked like he should always be here. Making her fire in the mornings. Living in her house. Just being here.

But then he turned to her and she saw the strain on his face and inappropriate thoughts went right out the window.

‘Betty died at six o’clock this morning,’ he told her, and her world stilled.

‘Died…’

‘You were sleeping so soundly that short of a bucket of cold water I couldn’t rouse you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m sorry.’

‘Betty,’ she whispered, and she felt a wave of grief for the old lady, a grief so strong it threatened to overwhelm her.

Though she’d known Betty by her correspondence and via William for longer, she’d only known Betty personally for a few months. For most of those months she’d been angry. Betty had conned her into coming, had trapped her. But despite her anger she’d never doubted Betty’s motives. She’d manoeuvred Maggie into coming for love of a son, for love of her son she had no other way to protect.

Maggie’s hands went instinctively to her own belly as her baby gave a fluttery kick inside her. Who knew what she’d do to protect this little one?

When did a mother’s love die?

‘Angus…’ she whispered.

‘Angus was with his mother when she died.’

‘Angus was!’ She stared at him, incredulous. In the whole time she’d been here Angus had never been in the house. It was almost as if he was afraid of it.

‘I thought they’d both want it,’ he told her, squatting back on his heels and meeting her gaze with steadiness and truth. ‘I thought if Angus has been farming for years he’ll understand what death is.’

‘But how did you make him come?’

‘I told him what was happening. I told him what I thought he should do and he agreed.’

‘But to make him listen…’

‘I know. I went over to the haystack, he backed away so I simply said his mother was dying and needed him to sit with her. Then I came back and sat on one of his tractors until he came. It took him half an hour to work up the courage, but he came. I stayed on the tractor and told him what Betty’s condition was, and finally he decided he could come into the house. Betty woke, just for a moment, as he arrived. He held her hand until she died.’

‘Oh, Max,’ she said, awed. And then, ‘Oh, I should have done that.’

‘I think your body was simply demanding you stopped,’ he said gently. ‘And to be honest, Maggie, it wasn’t you Betty wanted. She had a tiny sliver of awareness left, and it was all for Angus.’

‘Oh, Max,’ she said again, and burst into tears.

He moved then, like a big cat, covering the distance between them as if it was nothing. She’d half risen but he gathered her into his arms, as if that was where she’d been heading all along, and he held her close.

And maybe his arms were where she had been heading. She didn’t know-all she knew was that right now she needed him. She clung to him, he held her close and in those first few moments of grief she let out the emotions that had welled within her for years.

How long since she’d wept? Even the night William had died… His parents had been there and they’d been angry with her because she and William hadn’t consented to some new and amazing treatment they’d heard of in the States. It didn’t matter that William was far too ill to travel by the time they came on board with their offer to send him. Their anger had surrounded her, deflected her grief, making it seem like she had no right to a grief that was all theirs.

So now here she was, three years later, sobbing out grief for William’s grandmother instead, being held in the arms of a complete stranger, letting it out, letting it out.

She didn’t care. She simply sobbed until she was done, and when he laid her back on the cushions and she finally managed a watery smile, she knew the time for crying was over.

‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘If Betty had Angus with her then, yes, she had everything she wanted. And she saw him with the calves last night.’

‘And he saw her with the calves,’ Max agreed. ‘He knows they were a gift from his mother. He’s back with them now. He even talked about burials.’ He smiled. ‘He seemed to think the back paddock’d be a good place but I managed to talk him out of it. We discussed where his father was buried and thought that’d be okay. I believe you’ll be able to talk it through with him when you’re ready.’

‘But-’

‘I’ve organised the undertaker to come in a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘And I’ve rung the coroner. He agrees that since the old doctor left detailed notes before you arrived, outlining Betty’s condition as terminal, I can certify her death, even though I didn’t see her until last night.’

‘How did you know all this?’ she asked, dazed.

‘You have her medical file on the dresser,’ he said. ‘I read it during the night.’

She took a deep breath. This was huge. She couldn’t sign Betty’s death certificate herself-not when she’d been sharing a house with her-but without a certificate from a treating doctor, the police would have had to be called; a coroner’s inquest required.

Max had circumvented it all.

‘You’ve been awake all night?’

‘Most of it,’ he admitted, and motioned to the grandfather clock and grinned. ‘Ben here kept me company.’

‘You could have moved,’ she said, but then she thought back to vague memories of the night. Once or twice, early in the night, she’d stirred. She knew she had. Both times Max had been right by her, asking about her pain, just there until she’d drifted off again.

She’d slept because he’d been right beside her.

Clearly not all the time.

‘I checked on Betty just after midnight,’ he continued. ‘I thought she was slipping then, but it was faster than I thought.’

‘Oh, Max.’ She gulped and swallowed, not knowing what to say. There was nothing to say.

‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘If you’re up to listening.’

‘More…’

‘I’ve had the night to think,’ he told her. ‘In between Ben’s timely announcements to the world. Maybe I should warn you that my theatre staff consider me a little bit…well, maybe their term might be domineering. And organised. Maybe to the point of obsession. I do like a good plan.’ He shot her another of his disarming grins. ‘So I’ve done some preliminary planning.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I know you won’t be able to take it all in right now,’ he said sympathetically. ‘So just listen and take in what you can. Ideally you need time to say goodbye to Betty, to plan her funeral, to let your leg heal and to get over the shock of the last twenty-four hours. I think you need to lie on this settee for the next week-possibly even until your baby’s born. Only there’s no one to take over your work. I took four days off for the music festival, which gives me today clear but that’s it. I have a huge surgical waiting list-I do all the major public gynaecological surgery for South Sydney-so, like it or not, after today I’m no help at all. So I need to act fast. First we get you showered.’

‘We?’

‘Objection at step one?’ he demanded quizzically. ‘You’re hardly steady enough to shower alone.’

‘If you’ve already showered,’ she said with another of her futile attempts at dignity, ‘you’ll see there’s rails and a seat set up for Betty.’

Betty. So much emotion.

‘Okay, you have rails,’ Max conceded, watching her face. Obviously seeing her need to get independent fast. ‘Next item on list is letting people know about Betty. William’s parents? Will they come? Your own parents?’

‘Not happening.’ She shook her head, trying to rid herself of a wave of self-pity. Of want. Of need.

Because her need wasn’t for her parents, who’d been a tiny part of her life before they’d sent her to boarding school at six, or William’s, who simply wouldn’t care enough to come, but for this man who she’d known only since last night and she had no right to need at all.

‘Friends?’

‘Betty has a town full of friends, but if you’ve let the undertakers know, the word will be around town already.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s easy. So now we move to stage three of my plan.’

‘Your plan. For world domination?’ she asked, cautiously, trying to smile.

‘Better. I’ve found you a locum.’

‘Max!’

‘Yeah, I know this is way too much organisation,’ he said, and raked his fingers through his dark hair with the air of a man who wasn’t sure where to start. ‘But, hell, Maggie, you’re a basket case.’

What? Imperceptibly her spine stiffened and her eyes flashed. ‘What did you call me?’

‘A basket case.’

‘I am not!’ A basket case.

‘Okay, only a tiny bit of a basket case,’ he said hurriedly. ‘The rest of you is pure, brilliant competence. But for the little piece of you that might need to put her leg up for a time… Maggie, do you need the income from your medicine?’

For a moment she thought about not answering. This was so not his business. But he was looking at with such concern, how could she not?

‘I have William’s insurance,’ she conceded.

‘Excellent. So if you aren’t emotionally committed to practising medicine for the next few months, then you don’t need to. You know you’ve had two calls this morning already?’

‘Two calls?’

‘Neither of them serious, both of them I’ve referred to the medical tent at the festival,’ he said. ‘But I can hardly leave you to run yourself into high blood pressure.’

‘I’m not like Alice.’

‘No,’ he said, and caught himself. ‘No.’

‘So?’

‘So nothing,’ he said, suddenly cool and professional. ‘Blood pressure or not, you’ve been overworking and under-eating and it has to stop. So here’s my plan.’

Grief and shock had taken a back seat for the moment-fascination had taken its place. This was a man in move-a-mountain mode. Bemused, Maggie decided it might just behoove a girl to lie back and let him move it.

I have an internist friend who’s looking for work,’ Max said. ‘John’s a forty-year-old doctor from Zimbabwe. His wife, Margaret, is a dentist. John’s a highly trained doctor and he’s just finished his supervised assessment for accreditation in Australia. He had a job lined up in northern Victoria but it fell through last week. I rang him this morning and sounded him out about taking on the position of locum here for a while.’

‘You rang him?’

‘Just to check he’s still available,’ he said, still sounding clinically detached. As if he was handing out a prescription. ‘But to say he’s eager is an understatement. He has two young daughters who think the beach sounds great, and he’s free right now. If they can stay here while they size the place up, they can be here tomorrow. John can act as locum and if you’re interested in a long-term arrangement-even a partnership-that might work, too.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, and flabbergasted wasn’t too strong a word for it.

‘I have a surgical list first thing tomorrow morning so I need to leave tonight,’ he said apologetically. ‘But I rang the first-aid people at the festival. Until John arrives they’re happy for you to divert your phone through to them. They’ll cope with minor stuff and call for help on the big stuff. So today and tonight are covered. And then… John’s great. I’m sure he and his family will be sensitive to Angus and to your independence. Maggie, it’d mean someone would be here when you went into labour.’

And the professional detachment was gone. He was suddenly sounding hesitant-coaxing-as if he was trying to persuade her to do something against her will.

Against her will? Was he out of his mind?

She’d advertised for a locum but there’d been no applicants, yet here was Max, pulling doctors out of hats. To have another doctor here…

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘I’m not kidding,’ he said, seriously. ‘And I’ve done nothing you can’t undo.’

‘Why would I want to undo it?’ she demanded, feeling breathless. ‘I mean, I haven’t met John but if you say he’s good…’

‘He’s good.’

‘They could stay here,’ she said, trying to take it in. ‘I mean…for the short term. But there’s lots of places in town for long-term rent. They might prefer it.’

‘You need someone to be here when you go into labour.’

‘Whoa. You sound like my mother.’ Then she heard what she’d said and corrected herself in her head. You sound like my mother ought to sound like.

Or not. There was nothing maternal about Max Ashton.

There was nothing maternal about the way she was feeling about Max Ashton. Or the way the concern in his eyes made her feel.

‘I’m very maternal,’ he said, and grinned, and, wham, there it was again, that smile.

She couldn’t afford to get sucked into that smile.

What was she thinking? Betty was dead, she reminded herself frantically. That ought to be enough to deflect her. She should be grief stricken. But after last night…

No. Grief had very little place here. She and Betty had grieved together during the final stages of the illness. Now there was an aching sense of loss, but with it a huge relief that Betty had gone as she’d wanted, in her own bed, with her son by her side, knowing all was safe with her world.

And that was because of this one overbearing, domineering doctor with a heart-stopping smile. Whose plans she had to focus on because she was feeling as if she was about to be swept up in a tidal wave. Any minute now he’d offer to paint her baby-crib pink.

Or not. She looked again at his face and saw strain behind his smile, and thought this was hard for him-planning for her when he wanted nothing to do with pregnancy.

‘You don’t need to worry about me in labour,’ she said, fighting to get her face in order. ‘I’m having my baby in Sydney.’

‘You are?’

‘That was about my only sensible stipulation before I came here,’ she said. ‘I’ve organised an apartment in Sydney before and after the birth. I told Betty I was doing that before I even came to the farm.’ She gave him a shame-faced smile, thinking she sounded a wimp. ‘I thought there’d be a family doctor here, but I wanted back-up. And, yes, I realised going to Sydney will leave Yandilagong without a doctor, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I can’t be on call when I’m in labour.’

‘You don’t think?’ he demanded, and suddenly the tension was easing. ‘What’s wrong with you? What a wuss.’

‘I am,’ she said, and discovered she was smiling back at him. And more-the lump of grief around her heart since she’d learned that Betty was dead was lifting away.

Was she fickle as well as cowardly?

‘Hey,’ he said softly, and he cupped her chin with his middle and index fingers, lifting her face so her eyes met his. ‘It’s not wrong to smile now,’ he said softly. ‘Betty knew it was her time. She planned everything and it happened exactly as she wanted.’ He smiled gently into her eyes, forcing her to smile in return. ‘Yes, she might be somewhere now where she has inside knowledge that her carefully orchestrated grandson is, in fact, a girl, but she can hardly come back and demand a rerun. So let’s send her up a little message that girls can run farms, too, accept that she died happy and move on.’

‘I will,’ she said, and suddenly, inexplicably, she sniffed. It was the way he was looking at her. Like he cared…

What was it about this man? He was turning her into a sodden heap.

‘Good girl,’ he said softly. ‘Will you accept John and his family to help you?’

‘I… Yes.’ What else was a girl to say?

‘Great. Are you sure you don’t want help with that shower?’

‘No, thank you,’ she told him, but it was a lie. She’d have loved help with her shower. Only she was a big girl and big girls didn’t lean on big boys. Doctors didn’t lean on their colleagues.

Maggie didn’t lean on Max?

Without Max it would have been a ghastly morning. As it was…showered and fresh, she said her goodbyes to Betty while Max hovered in the background, filling in technicalities, smoothing the way for Betty’s departure.

It was he who contacted the priest from Betty’s church, and who let him in as Maggie finished a needfully long shower. It was Max who hiked his brows as Maggie produced a list of instructions as long as her arm to give to the priest. It seemed Betty had planned her funeral right down to the Wellingtons and moleskins she wanted to be buried in, but it was Max who went through the list with the priest, ensuring Betty could have exactly what she wanted.

It was Max who stood beside her as she rang William’s parents-as she heard their irritation that Betty’s death had come at such an inconvenient time and really they couldn’t come right now.

‘Told you so,’ she mouthed at Max as they talked, and he smiled and gave her a thumps-up, you-were-right sign, and what would have been an appalling call was made lighter.

Then he made calls to more distant relatives for her-yes, sadly Betty was dead, no, sorry, Maggie couldn’t come to the phone right now, she was understandably upset, the funeral arrangements would be in the local paper tomorrow if they wanted to come. While Maggie nursed her third mug of tea for the morning and watched and thought this was hero material and all Max needed was a Superman outfit and he’d be right up there, leaping tall buildings, with her tucked neatly under his arm.

No one could deny Superman.

So calls made, he accepted no more arguments, but put her in the car and headed for Yandilagong. It took half an hour to navigate the main street as the festival was still going full swing but finally they reached the clinic. This had been set up by the old doctor, and Maggie now used it as her surgery. She went to clamber out of the car with her crutches but there were crowds of people on the pavement and someone jostled her, and Max swore and was at her side in an instant, picking her up yet again and carrying her through, regardless of her protests. Superman still.

But then he paused.

‘Max!’ It was a shout from across the street. Max turned with his burden still in his arms.

A woman was running lightly across the road. Beautiful. Sleek, cream jacket, casual jeans, lovely silver ballet flats. Gorgeous blonde hair, straight and glossy as a shampoo advertisement, the fringe pushed back with designer sunglasses. A wide, white smile.

‘Fiona.’

Fiona. The girlfriend.

Lois to Superman’s Clark Kent, while the wimp in his arms was simply some woman he’d rescued before he moved onto the next task.

‘I thought you had a call back to Sydney,’ Fiona said, clearly astounded.

‘I did,’ he said. ‘But I had an accident on the road and was forced to stay. Fiona, meet my accident. Dr Maggie Croft, meet Dr Fiona Hamilton. I told you about Fi last night. She’s a radiologist.’

‘Hi,’ Maggie said, feeling really, really at a disadvantage. Lying back in Superman’s arms was scarcely a way to endear yourself to Lois. Or to Fiona.

This woman was also a doctor. That made three of them, but there wasn’t a lot of professional recognition in the way Fiona was looking at her. Well, what do you expect if you go around carried in Superman’s arms, she demanded of herself. She was the victim here. The rescuee. Superman’s armful.

‘You didn’t go back,’ Fiona said blankly, looking from Maggie back to Max.

‘No. As I said, I was stuck.’

‘You really did have an accident?’ Fiona’s gaze shifted to the Aston Martin. As if to verify the claim, there it was, a smashed headlight, a crumpled left panel and a crack running the width of the windscreen.

‘Oh, your car,’ she said in horror, and put her hand to her eyes as if she couldn’t bear such hurt. ‘Oh, your gorgeous car.’

‘Maggie was hurt, too,’ he said brusquely. ‘I’m taking her in for an X-ray.’

‘You’re X-raying her here?’

‘Apparently it’s not as much a backwater as you might think,’ Max said. ‘I gather there’s basic X-ray equipment.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Fiona said. ‘Why are you carrying her?’

‘Because he’s bossy,’ Maggie said, finally deciding she needed to be helpful if she was ever going to get this over with. ‘Max won’t let me use crutches. The fact that I was fine on them last night…’

‘Max stayed with you last night?’ Fiona asked, incredulous.

‘Yeah, and with Grandma and Angus and our cows and our dog,’ she said, deciding to pre-empt trouble before it got a hold. ‘He was really useful. But I don’t want him to drop me, so…’

‘I’ll come in with you,’ Fiona said, sounding bemused, and stood aside and let them both pass. ‘You stayed with her last night, Max? You stayed in the same house as real people?’

‘Don’t be impertinent,’ Max retorted, and Fiona grinned as if it was a shared joke.

Great. She so didn’t want to be here, Maggie decided. If they were in Superman territory she wouldn’t mind a telephone box to disappear into.

Or was she thinking Doctor Who? A bit of time travel to a different place.

But there was no avoiding practicalities. Max had to let her down to unlock the building. She opened it, entered her security code, then sat down speedily in the chair next to the door, because to tell the truth both knees were wobbly now. She could cope with Max here, but Fiona’s presence completely unnerved her. She made her feel about ten.

‘The X-ray machine’s in there,’ she told Max, pointing to the next room. ‘If you set it up, I’ll come in when you’re ready.’

‘How out of the ark are we talking?’ Max said cautiously, while Fiona looked on in obvious bewilderment.

‘State of the art,’ Maggie retorted. ‘Or,’ she added honestly, ‘it was state of the art ten years ago. The old doctor got it second hand from Gosland hospital when they extended. For nice plain skull and knee pictures it’s fine.’

‘You’ve used it recently?’

‘It really is fine,’ she said, growing incensed. ‘What, you think we should have brought a small animal to test it on first? How about if Fiona volunteers a toe?’

Maybe that was uncalled for. Dumb, really. She didn’t know this woman, and to include her in a stupid joke…

But Fiona looked as if she hadn’t even heard. She tugged open the door and stared through at the X-ray equipment, becoming efficient. ‘I’ll check it for you, Max,’ she said briskly.

‘Wow,’ she muttered. ‘I have my own gynaecologist and radiologist.’

She was ignored. They were both in clinical mode. She had a sudden vision of them both back in Sydney, two hugely qualified specialists, totally focussed on their work.

Beside them she felt like a country hick. A patient to be cared for with clinical efficiency and kindness.

That’s what Max had been doing all night, she thought dully. Caring for her with kindness.

‘There’s nothing complicated here,’ Fiona called. ‘So what were you intending to do today? Make sure she’s okay and then come back to end the festival with us?’

She? She’s the cat’s mother. A saying used to teach children it was impolite to refer to people impersonally.

She, the patient. She, the inanimate object, causing trouble.

‘I’m still heading back to Sydney,’ Max told her, equally brisk, ‘just as soon as I know Maggie’s not going to do anything dramatic.’ Without waiting for a response-or an okay-he lifted Maggie again and carried her through. Still talking to Fiona. ‘We were always going back separately anyway. You know I have a list in the morning, and Clarissa and Doug are staying until it ends. I can’t wait until then.’

‘It’s pretty dreary,’ Fiona said. Max laid Maggie down on the prepared trolley, and Fiona manoeuvred the overhead X-ray machine over her knee. She slid a pillow underneath with the ease of a professional, as if she’d done it a million times before. As she must have. This was a simple technical procedure. She wasn’t X-raying a patient. She was X-raying a knee.

‘Clarissa and Doug are bickering,’ she said. ‘Brenda’s boyfriend turned up and I’ve had enough music. I’ll come home with you, as soon as you’re ready.’

‘Fine,’ Max said. ‘Are you okay there, Maggie?’

‘Fine,’ she repeated. Feeling like a sack of potatoes. Wanting, pathetically, to say, ‘Hey, this is about me.’

‘Do you have leather shields?’ Fiona demanded, still not looking at her. ‘We need to protect the pregnancy.’

The pregnancy. Not the baby. Not her baby.

‘In the side cupboard,’ she said through gritted teeth, and Max fetched them and set them up so they formed a barrier between the X-ray machine and her belly. Her daughter.

Annie? Not Archibald. She had a bit of thinking to do on that one.

Chloe didn’t seem right any more.

‘Right. Keep still,’ Fiona said. ‘Hold the position. Max, get out of range.’

So Max moved back behind the door and Fiona clicked and then clicked again.

‘And her head,’ Max said,

‘Her head. Why?’

‘She gave it a bang when we hit last night.’

‘So why didn’t you X-ray it last night.’

‘Maggie’s grandmother died last night. We couldn’t leave her.’

‘She died…’

‘Of old age,’ Maggie said wearily, not wanting any more questions, wanting this conversation to be over. ‘That’s why Max stayed. He was wonderful. But I don’t need him any more and you both need to be in Sydney. Can we get on with this, please, because, like you, I need to go home.’

Her X-rays were fine, beautifully read by Fiona. Torn ligaments in her knee that would heal in time. Nothing wrong with her head. Fiona wished her all the best for her recovery-and for her pregnancy-and left to go back to their ‘camp’ to pack. Max drove Maggie back to the farm and the closer to home they got the drearier she felt.

Why had meeting Fiona made everything seem worse? Heavier?

They pulled into the driveway and she recognised the vehicle at the front gate. Who wouldn’t? A silver hearse is unmistakable in anyone’s language.

Max cut the motor and went to get out, but she put her hand out and stopped him.

‘You don’t have anything inside?’

‘No, but-’

‘But then it’s time for you to go,’ she told him, trying to make her tone firm and sure. A man and a woman were waiting for her on the veranda, dressed in sombre grey. That was her future, she thought. Grey.

Grey with a baby daughter? She gave herself a mental slap to the side of the head and made herself smile. Maybe grey until she’d buried Betty and her knee stopped hurting, but in the long term she’d be fine. More than fine. Max had conjured up a locum. Even the sight of the staff from the Yandilagong Funeral Parlour didn’t have the capacity to dim that.

‘You’ve been wonderful,’ she said. ‘But Fiona’s waiting.’

‘She’s not-’

‘You know she is. And I don’t need you any more. Last night I did need you, and I’ll always be profoundly grateful that you were here for me. And you’ve found me a locum. You have no idea how grateful I am for that.’

‘You know that John might stay long term if you want to share.’

‘I might just want to,’ she said. ‘But that’s for the future. So thank you again.’ She tugged her crutches over from the back seat and opened the car door.

‘Maggie?’

She turned back to him.

‘I could stay another night and leave at dawn. I don’t want you on your own.’

‘I have a sore knee,’ she said, pushing herself out of his gorgeous car. ‘That’s all. I can manage by myself. And, besides, I have Angus and cows and dog and tractors. What’s alone about that? Meanwhile, you have your own life you need to get back to. Thank you.’

He looked across at her-and then before she knew what he intended he was out of the car, coming around to her side, taking her crutches and placing them against his precious but increasingly battered car.

‘Maggie, thank you,’ he said heavily. ‘You’ve reminded me…’

He paused. Reminded him of what? she thought, but she looked at his face and knew he wouldn’t answer. Knew he didn’t know how to answer.

‘John’s good,’ he said inconsequentially, and she nodded.

‘If he’s worked with you I imagine he must be.’

‘He can work with everyone. Kids. Babies. He’s okay.’

‘Are you saying you’re not okay?’ she asked gently. ‘Because you no longer work with babies?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I hope you are.’ And then, because he looked…lost? No, surely that was too strong a word for it, just a little bewildered, as if Superman’s world was a bit out of kilter and he didn’t know how to put it right. And she thought, Why not?

Why not? She really wanted to do this. She wouldn’t see this guy after today. What was the harm?

When she really, really wanted to do it. Fiona or not. What difference would a kiss make?

And before she could examine the thought any further, her hands came up to take his face and draw his mouth down to hers.

Only his mouth was already moving. To hers.

And for one long, sweet moment sanity flew out the window.

There was nothing sensible about kissing Maggie. There was nothing planned. He only knew that her lips were on his, that his hands were on her waist, drawing her into him, feeling a blast of want and need so great it threatened…

Well, it didn’t threaten. It simply did. Did remove sanity. Did remove acknowledgement of how crazy this was, how inappropriate, how stupid.

Nothing mattered but the surety that he was kissing her.

She tasted of honey. Honey, he thought, and had a flash of recall, hours ago, sharing toast and honey. It must have stayed. Or maybe honey always clung to this woman.

As did sweetness.

As did heat.

For heat was what he was feeling-heat surging through the linking of their mouths, through the fire he felt in his hands at her waist, through the way her body curved and clung as her lips parted to welcome him into her. She was aching for him to deepen the kiss, showing a need that was at least as great as his own.

Did he need her?

That was a crazy thought, too, for of course he didn’t need her. He never could need. To expose himself to that sort of pain… No!

So he’d leave this afternoon and never come back. She’d get on with her own life and he’d get on with his. But strangely, unaccountably it made his immediate need even greater. Knowing that this might be the only time-this would be the only time-that he could hold her in his arms and let desire hold sway.

She was so lovely-achingly lovely. She was simply dressed in pregnancy jeans and windcheater, she was battered and tired and very pregnant-yet lovely had been one of the first things he’d thought when he’d seen her, and he thought it again now.

Her body was all soft curves. Her pregnant belly moulded against him and he found himself curving to accommodate it. A man taking his woman unto him.

He was deepening the kiss-deepening, deepening, deepening, until all he felt was her and all he knew was her, and the rest of the world could float away for all he cared.

Only, of course, it didn’t. It couldn’t. The woman on the veranda was clearly not amused at being kept waiting. She’d walked down to meet them. She’d stopped four feet away from them and coughed, a cough that said this wasn’t appropriate, she could understand sympathy this morning but she couldn’t understand passion.

Dammit. He felt Maggie shift in his arms, withdraw, become conscious again of her surroundings, and he wanted to shout ‘No’ and tug her closer, but the woman coughed again and he wanted to strangle her.

Reluctantly, achingly, he let Maggie pull away, then stood, holding her at arm’s length, gazing down at her bewildered eyes. Her mouth was lush and full, her lips just kissed…

But behind them the woman was looking confused.

‘Dr Croft?’ she said.

‘That’s me,’ Maggie said, and there was a definite shake to her voice. ‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting. ‘Dr Ashton was just kissing me goodbye.’

Goodbye.

The word stung-but that’s what this was. For one long moment he teetered, a part of him wanting to say, no, it’s not goodbye, this is just the beginning. But then Archibald-or was it Ernestine?-kicked, and Maggie glanced ruefully at her abdomen and so did Max. And there was her baby between them.

Reality slammed back, and remembered pain. No. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d never be ready. Exposing himself to the pain he’d felt six years ago… No and no and no.

Where to go from here?

Nowhere.

To leave seemed impossible. To leave seemed like leaving part of himself behind.

‘Fiona’s waiting,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m sorry about the kiss. You don’t have to tell her.’

‘Fiona’s not-’

‘Max, just go,’ she said, and her voice was really trembling. ‘Please. I can cope myself. I will be fine. I’ll be better if you go.’

‘I don’t want to leave you.’

‘You must,’ she said gently. ‘You have your world and I have mine.’ Her chin jutted a little and she forced herself to smile. ‘You go and get back to your life. But thank you for being wonderful. My hero.’

She hesitated for a moment, then lightly stood on tiptoe and kissed him again. Only this time it was different. It was a fleeting, final kiss of farewell.

And then, very deliberately, she turned her back on him. She nodded decisively to the woman waiting. ‘Let’s go inside. I’ve kept you waiting long enough.’

She made her way slowly on her crutches up to the veranda and he watched her go and she didn’t turn back once.

Max was free to go.

She didn’t look back. If she had she would have wept. As it was, the woman from the undertaker kept giving her odd glances.

This was a small community. It’d be all over town by nightfall that she’d kissed a stranger-that Dr Maggie had a love life.

She didn’t have a love life. She’d kissed him and it was entirely inappropriate. He had a girlfriend. What was she thinking?

She was grief stricken, she decided as she let the two undertakers into the house. Of course she was. That was it. Anything could be excused on the basis of shock and loss.

She wasn’t herself. Tomorrow she’d wake up and be back to nice sensible Maggie, who knew her place and was properly horrified by today’s behaviour.

Was he gone?

It was so hard not to look back.

He drove back to town to collect Fiona and the further he drove the worse he felt. He’d left Maggie alone with the undertakers. How would she cope?

She’d cope magnificently. She was one magnificent woman.

She was bereft, alone and hurt.

She’d kissed him.

There were so many conflicting emotions he didn’t know where to start sorting them into any sensible order. For, of course, there was no sensible order, and when he collected Fiona and she started talking serious clinical medicine, serious hospital politics and the difficulties of progressing up the hospital’s hierarchy, he was grateful.

Medicine blocked out the white noise. He’d learned that when Alice died and he retreated back to it now.

Only…when he arrived back to the hospital the white noise followed him, ready to descend at any sliver of opportunity. He worked until midnight, he did a session in the gym and confusion followed him to bed.

Maggie, Maggie, Maggie.

He’d organised her a locum. John seemed delighted at the chance to help, and he was having a tough time not shoving him aside to take the job himself. He was jealous?

How stupid was that? Really stupid.

But still he lay and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

Maggie. Babies. Family.

The whole heart thing.

He could still feel Daniel in his arms. He could remember every wrinkle, every precious feature of his tiny son. He could remember the joy of being married to a woman he loved, but superimposed on that joy was aching, tearing loss.

To open himself again to that sort of pain…

No.

So stay away.

But the funeral…

He could bear everything else, but the thought of Maggie at Betty’s funeral was too much. The thought of her standing at a graveside as once she’d stood at William’s grave, as he’d stood at Alice’s and Daniel’s…

No.

So… This last thing he’d do for her. He’d arrange work so he could go to the funeral. He’d stay well back-if possible she wouldn’t even see him. If she was surrounded by family and friends then he didn’t have to go near. If she saw him he was simply paying his respects, visiting John to see if things were working out, taking his car for a run.

No harm there.

The decision released a twist of pain in his gut and he closed his eyes in relief.

But still he didn’t sleep.

Maggie.