Rescue at Cradle Lake

CHAPTER SEVEN

GINNY had no intention of returning to the house. Neither did she want to go Fergus’s apartment, attached via a connecting door to the hospital, with all the connotations that held.

But down on the lake was the Viental boatshed. In her awful teenage years, Ginny had used it as a refuge. She’d gone there when life had simply overwhelmed her. It didn’t seem like home. It didn’t seem like any other place. It was simply the boatshed-her retreat from the world.

She directed Fergus. They drove in silence, with Fergus every now and then glancing across at her, as if reassuring himself that she was still there. Still real.

She sat with her hands clasped loosely on her knees and tried not to think the same of him. This was a moment out of time, she thought. One grasped moment of unreality, a gift not to be extended. A magic disappearing gift, here for tonight but gone in the morning. The contact with someone who shared…her heart?

Let’s not be fanciful, she told herself, but her lips curved in a tiny smile that wasn’t quite mockery. She looked sideways and found Fergus was smiling as well. An echo?

Just for tonight, she told herself. Just for tonight.

The world was holding its breath.

The boatshed was nestled in a patch of natural bushland just off the road. Fergus pulled the car onto the verge. He grabbed his jacket from over the seat and Ginny grinned.

‘You need a jacket?’

‘My phone’s in the pocket,’ he said apologetically, and her smile died.

‘Medical imperatives, huh?’

‘I did agree to take this job.’

‘Are we expecting medical imperatives?’

‘They’d have to be pretty damned imperative. You unlock the boatshed. I’ll get my bag out of the back.’

‘Because it contains medical imperatives?’

‘Absolutely.’

Was this wrong? Ginny hauled open the boatshed door, feeling like she should be feeling qualms. Or conscience. Or worry. Or something. She felt none of those things. She just felt…right.

By the time Fergus followed she had the doors open on the other side of the shed. This was a dry shed, with the boat having to be winched up a tracked ramp to be under cover. The boat the family had used had long been sold, but the shed itself was weatherproof and completely dry.

Ginny had always loved it. It had become a bolthole, when things had been too awful at home, and she’d squirrelled things away here. Blankets. Pillows. An old mattress, with a couple of broken springs. Her comforts were ancient but not so old they couldn’t be very useful now.

Fergus stopped at the door and gazed around in appreciation. The moon was almost full, and as soon as Ginny flung open the boat doors onto the lake, the moonlight flooded in.

‘I have candles,’ Ginny said, a trifle self-consciously and he nodded.

‘I bet you have. With little cupids engraved…’

‘There’s no need to mock.’

‘I’m not mocking,’ he said softly, grinning. ‘Ginny, this is magic. A man could fall in love…’

‘But you won’t.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ he said, though he suddenly sounded a trace unsure. He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. His smile faded. ‘Ginny, are you sure?’

‘About tonight? I’m as sure as I’ve ever been about anything. But tomorrow…there’s no tomorrow, Fergus. We both know that.’

‘So we do,’ he said gently. ‘But there is tonight.’

She looked up at him, fixing her eyes on his. Making sure. And then, suddenly, before any more of these stupid scruples could get in the way, she tugged her shirt over her head. Then she flicked the fasteners of her bra, letting it fall free, and reached for the zip of her jeans.

He caught her hand.

‘This is not an offering you’re making,’ he said softly, catching her other hand as well and holding her before him. ‘This is mutual love-making we’re indulging in here. Mutual. I want you, Ginny, but I want you to want me.’

‘I do want you,’ she whispered.

‘Not for sex, Ginny. For love-making. Whether or not there’s a tomorrow, this needs to be an act of love or I want no part of it. I need you to kiss me.’

She gazed up at him. He was looking down at her, but he wasn’t looking at her breasts, as some men might have. He was searching her eyes.

He was so…so…

There was something changing inside her. Something she hadn’t been aware could be changed.

Fergus.

She twisted the grip of his hand so it was she who was doing the holding. She lifted his hand high, so the back of his hand was against her cheek. So she could feel the roughness of his skin against her.

This was so right. For this night, this was her man. He was big and tender and scarred with the same horror she’d faced. She put her hands up and touched his face, gently, tenderly, never letting her eyes move from his.

‘Fergus.’

He bent and he kissed her.

And in that instant her world readjusted itself. The awful tilted axis somehow righted itself. Love-making, he’d called it, and maybe it was the right description. For now, for this wondrous moment, the horror of commitment made way for…

For what? She wasn’t asking and neither was he. Because wonderfully, inevitably, Fergus was merging his mouth with hers. Her hands were cradling his face, brushing his cheek with her fingers, tracing the roughness of skin, and for this moment she was loving every inch of him.

He deepened the kiss, and the sensation made her want to cry out in pleasure. But she couldn’t, for to do that would be to break the moment. To take pause…

But he did take pause. He moved back then, just a little, so she could see the flare of desire in his eyes but could also read the sudden doubt.

‘Ginny, it is love-making.’

‘Yes, but only for tonight. Just for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear but suddenly no longer sure that her words held truth. She smiled up at him, forcing her smile to be that of a calm, sure woman, with the situation totally in her control. The fact that the situation was suddenly totally out of control was no fault of his and it was no less magical for that. For the first time in her life she was out of control, and glorying in it.

Please…

The word was no sooner formed in her mind before she had her answer. She was being kissed again, and it seemed she’d been waiting all her life for this kiss.

Her lips parted, joy surging through her body as she realised that hesitations were gone. For this moment things had indeed changed. He was her Fergus-the man who’d lain beside her and rescued a lamb and somehow changed the way she viewed her world.

She closed her eyes, aching with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. His fingers were holding her, tracing the contours of her waist, seeking to know her. He was glorying in the smoothness of her skin, slowly, wonderingly, and each inch of movement sent shivers of sheer sensual pleasure through her entire body.

She let herself lean into him, letting her body’s weight be supported by his, seeking reassurance that he was real and not some romantic fantasy. Not some dream that would dissipate before it went further. That this was happening in truth and not in dreams. She was naked to the waist and he was still clothed, but that was of no concern. She could feel the strength of him underneath. The clothes would disappear in time and for now it seemed they had all the time in the world.

‘For tonight I love you, Fergus,’ she whispered. ‘This is indeed love-making.’

‘It is indeed.’ He held her at arm’s length. ‘Ginny, are you indeed sure? You know I make no promises.’

‘I want no promises. For now I just want you.’

He gazed down into her eyes for a long, long moment, questioning, probing, but her answers had already been given.

‘My beloved fool. We’re both fools.’

‘No. We’re a mature man and woman with a condom. Out to have a very good time.’ She smiled up at him, aware that her whole universe was centred in this one moment, and she caught his hand and held. She kissed every finger in turn while he gazed down at her bent head with wonder in his eyes.

He kissed her once more but it was different. Better. He kissed her as she needed to be kissed. As she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids.

She lifted his hand and led it to her breast. He slipped his fingers around the soft swell, cupping the smooth contours, tracing the nipples, making her cry out in a soft, low ache of need and desire and love.

He was still in his shirt and she needed him closer. She needed the fabric to be gone. The night was dreamlike and wonderful as she pulled away. The flickering rays of moonlight off the water were playing on their faces. There was no need of candlelight here.

Her Fergus. For tonight, this was her Fergus.

They didn’t speak. There was no room for speaking. There was no need. Her fingers were unfastening the front of his shirt. He watched her, his hands gently touching her face, and she could hear his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Her fingers were feeling the warmth of his skin under the fabric. Her lovely Fergus. Her hero, wounded as she was, but for this night magically healed.

His breathing was becoming ragged as she ran her hands over his chest, feeling his hair between her fingers. Leaning closer, she kissed his neck, tasting the salt of him. Loving him. The shirt had fallen away and he was left with only his jeans.

Her Fergus. Hers.

She locked his arms behind him, then lifted her head to allow him to kiss her. He was tasting her neck, caressing her shoulders with his tongue and the sensation was so exquisite she thought she must cry out in pleasure. She could hardly breathe. She stood motionless, gasping her pleasure as he lowered his head and kissed between her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. His hands gently cupped each breast and his lips moved from one to the other. He kissed them in turn, tantalising, teasing the proudly upright nipples. Savouring.

His fingers moved, gently, whispering down her back, her arms, neck… And then he tugged her into him and their heated bodies moulded together.

Skin to skin.

Their mouths were joined again, her hands holding him in urgent, primeval need. His hands tugged at her hips and she felt her jeans slipping. Good. This was right. She searched for the zipper of his and tugged, and her hands kept on tugging. Away. Away. As his clothing disappeared, her hands stayed at his hips. She felt his body stiffen with shock as her fingers found what they were seeking.

And she found what for this moment she desired above all else. That which would link her to this man in a way she must be if she was to live.

She was under no illusion now. This night was changing her, hauling her out of a dark abyss that she could no longer bear to be in. The escape for her was in loving this man, whether he wanted her or not. But joyously he did want her. For this moment, and that was all that mattered. It was all that could be allowed to matter.

Their bodies were melting into each other. He tugged her closer, then swept her up into his arms and lowered her onto the ancient mattress. She heard herself cry out with dismay as they were momentarily separated, as he did what he needed to do to keep them safe. But it was done in an instant and then he joined her, his body melting against hers.

Slow. Tender. Inevitable. Their bodies curved against each other, and as they met, skin against skin, she felt herself growing dizzy with passion she’d never known. That she’d never realised she could know.

Oh, the feel of him. The joy. He kissed her neck, a rain of kisses, running his tongue over her smooth, soft skin, while his magic hands caressed the hot skin of her breasts, her navel, her belly and beyond.

He was so beautiful. This magnificent body, strong and virile, in full manhood. What right did he have to turn away from loving because he’d once been hurt?

Fergus.

They lay entwined on the mattress and the night air warmed their naked skin, creating an intimacy far greater than any closed bedroom door. The night was warm and still, and the tiny waves from the lake were slapping against the boatshed floor. There were plovers calling along the grassland on the shore, their calls eerie and wonderful. Every sense was aroused-she was aware of every nuance-she’d never felt so alive as she did at this moment.

‘Fergus,’ she whispered, her voice husky with passion, and he rolled on top of her in one lithe move. He was above her then, his knees holding her hips within the strong bounds of his thighs. She arched upward, aching to be closer, closer, kissing his chest, breathing hard, tasting the salt of him.

Fergus.

She was moaning now, kissing him, clutching his back, aching for him to be inside her, but he held himself still. His arms were hard and sinewy as he held himself up, drawing out the moment she so longed for.

She arched again, but he leaned forward and kissed her deeply, his tongue caressing, promising, giving a foretaste of what was to come.

‘My beautiful girl,’ he whispered. ‘My crazy fool. My heart.’

‘Come into me.’ Her thighs were aching with need, her body was creating a flame all of its own, but still he resisted. He lowered himself, but not where she most needed him. Instead, he laid his chest lightly against her breasts, brushing, over and back, over and back, until her breasts felt as if they were alive and her whole body was trembling with want and ache and love.

Still he brushed, over and over, and then he kissed her, every part of her, moving languorously from her lips to her neck, to her breasts, down over her belly, taunting the aching need within until she thought she could die right at this minute and know that here was paradise.

Enough. Enough. She took his body and held in a fierce possessive hug that had him centred exactly where he needed to be centred, lowering exactly where he needed to lower-and he was there.

She buried her face in his shoulder and she knew she was weeping. He was deep inside her, strong and gentle, plundering yet loving. She moved with him, her body taking her rhythm from his, letting him take her where he wanted but assuaging her own need, reaching her heart, taking her to where she was meant to be.

Taking her to a home she’d never known she could have.

Her eyes were wide in the moonlight as he loved her and loved her still. How could she close her eyes on this wonder? His body in the night was a thing of raw strength and beauty. She marvelled at his beauty as he moved above her, as he loved her. His body was glistening with sweat, with concentration, with desire.

Her man. For tonight, her man. Her path to the future.

But then she stopped thinking. Thoughts gave way to pure sensation as her body reacted to the moment, to his strength, to his love, to her aching, tearing need. The night and the moonlight and the sounds of the waters of the lake merged into her feeling for this man, this wondrous fulfilment of passion that had her crying out, arching, her body moving without her willing it, taking its need and causing the night to merge into a mist of heat and stars and white-hot love.

It went on and on, surging throughout her body, and the moment the sensation eased, another started to build, in a long rolling, burning heat. Over and over. She wept and her hands clutched his body and she knew that her world was right here.

Her love.

And when it finished, when finally he lay back exhausted, still he held her. His arms cradled her and she moulded herself to his body and she felt his heartbeat and knew that in her world things were finally right.

She found the strength to raise herself over him and she kissed him, on the eyelids, on his cheeks, on his mouth, gently, tenderly. He gazed up at her with eyes that were spent from passion but still held all the tenderness she could desire.

‘Oh, God, Ginny…’

‘God has nothing to do with it,’ she whispered, allowing a touch of severity to enter her voice. ‘And if he has, I hope he has his eyes closed. For an unmarried woman to take such pleasure…’

‘No god could deny you pleasure,’ he whispered. ‘After the things you’ve faced…have yet to face…’

‘You mean, if I sleep now I’ll wake up and see you naked in the dawn?’ she demanded, refusing to be drawn where he was taking her, and he chuckled, a deep, glorious chuckle that had her heart twist in a way it had never twisted in its existence.

‘Scared?’

‘I guess I’m not,’ she said, smiling and burying her face in his chest. ‘You are the most extraordinarily sexy man.’

‘I know,’ he said modestly, and she giggled.

‘Ginny…’

‘Hush,’ she whispered, suddenly realising what he might say and knowing she didn’t want to go there. ‘OK, Fergus, you’re extraordinary. But are you going to prove it or are you going to sleep? If you’re extraordinary…’

‘What?’

‘Then you’d be making love to me again. Right now. Your call, Fergus.’

And it was no call at all. He gazed at her for a long time and laughter died and she saw the doubts were still there behind the laughter.

‘My Ginny,’ he whispered. ‘My dream, my heart, my love. My beautiful, golden girl. How can you need me? It can’t be real. It can’t last. But for now… You’re here, you’re my woman, and you want me. You’re a miracle that’s here for the taking and I can’t refuse you, my love.’

‘And why would you want to?’ she demanded with some asperity, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a crooked smile.

‘Why indeed?’

He tugged her down to him, his mouth claimed hers and the whole glorious cycle started again.

Until the phone rang.

Until the medical imperative took over.

She didn’t go with him. There were yet two hours before dawn and this sounded like a simple case of a child with gastroenteritis. One doctor could handle this alone so Fergus could go play doctor and she could stay here and play abandoned lover in the moonlight.

Which suited her mood entirely. But she didn’t feel in the least abandoned.

She lay in what was left of the moonlight, staring out at the shimmering surface of the lake.

She’d sworn never to come back here. This place had been her refuge as a child but as an adult it had represented a security she knew was an illusion.

Was it an illusion? Happy ever after?

‘It’ll end,’ she whispered into the night. ‘It’ll end in tears.

‘But maybe not yet. Maybe I could give this loving business one more chance.

‘You’ll be hurt.

‘Yes, but if I don’t try…’

She rolled over and the mound of blankets where Fergus had lain was still warm. She buried her face in his pillow and thought she could smell him.

‘Now I am being a lovesick teenager. He doesn’t want me.

‘Even if he doesn’t…’

He was off saving the world, she thought. Off being busy, trying to block out pain, trying not to let love creep in at the edges.

He had so much love to give.

‘So do I,’ she told the lake. ‘I thought I didn’t. But tonight…it’s crazy but suddenly there’s more room. For Fergus…’

For whoever.

Fergus might or might not want her for much longer, she thought, and she could cope with that. She had no choice. Tonight had been magic-a wonderful time out for both of them and for her an experience that had resettled her world on an axis it had been shaken off so many years before.

But for Fergus… His pain was raw and new and he’d had no time to adjust to the awfulness of loss. To expect tonight to change him…

‘It won’t,’ she told the darkened lake, and she saw the light fade as the moon slipped beneath the horizon to the west. Soon it would be dawn.

Could she cope with it?

‘I surely can,’ she said, and sat up and hugged her knees. Then she put out a hand and laid it on the ancient floorboards. ‘Touch wood.

‘It’ll take guts.

‘Yeah, but it feels so good…connecting…’ She hugged her knees some more as if she was reassuring a friend. As if she could conjure up Fergus’s body in her arms.

‘It’ll hurt again.

‘I know. But it hurts anyway, and I’m so tired of feeling empty. Dammit, I’m going to try.’ She stared around the ancient boatshed and realised what had happened.

‘I swore never to come back here,’ she told herself. ‘And here I am-back.’

Fergus drove toward the Horace farm feeling…odd. Like he’d just been hauled back from a precipice and he wasn’t at all sure he appreciated the sensation.

He’d been so close to toppling over.

Once when he’d been a young intern in a busy emergency room, an ancient lady had suffered a cardiac arrest on his shift. He’d done what he’d been trained to do. He’d called for the crash cart, he’d applied the defibrillator, he’d worked on her hard for fifteen minutes-and he’d got her back. It had felt great.

But two days later he’d visited her in the ward and when she’d realised who he was she’d hurled her bowl of hospital broth at him with more force than such a woman could reasonably have been expected to possess.

‘I was ready,’ she’d hissed. ‘They’ve all gone before me. My husband. My friends. Two of my children. They were waiting and I was ready and you hauled me back. For what? What, young man? What?’

It had been a salutary lesson, and now he made a huge effort to learn which of his patients would elect to give the order ‘not for resuscitation.’

Which should have no bearing on how he was feeling now, he thought dryly, but it did. He’d lain with Ginny in his arms and he’d felt so close to declaring himself in love. He’d gone so close to tumbling into the whole relationship thing again and now that he’d been pulled back…

Now that he’d been pulled back he was feeling sick and empty. Maybe…just maybe loving again wouldn’t be so bad.

Just Ginny, he told himself hastily in case his mind should get any funny ideas about taking it further. Maybe Ginny and I could have some sort of relationship. The thought of holding her again, of lying with her, of burying his body in hers, was infinitely appealing. And Ginny didn’t want attachments. She wouldn’t want children. They could be a career couple, carefully independent but meeting somewhere…

Meeting where? In marriage?

His mind closed on the idea-but then the thought of Ginny rose up before him. He let the image stay and the more he let it drift in his mind the more seductive the image grew.

‘Just Ginny,’ he said into the darkness. ‘If she’ll have me. If she’ll let some of her precious independence go. Not that I want her to be dependent…’

What did he want?

And the answer came back.

He wanted Ginny.

His cellphone rang again and he clicked through to the speaker on his truck console.

‘You on your way, Doc?’ It was Clive Horace, sounding anxious. ‘Stephanie’s just chucked again and that makes it five times since midnight. Won’t she be getting dehydrated?’

Yeah, Fergus thought, shoving away the image of the seductive Ginny until he had more time to focus. Stephanie would. He needed to concentrate on medicine.

Ginny would have to wait.

But not very long, he told himself fiercely. She was still at the boatshed, lying sleepily in her cocoon of ancient blankets.

Maybe if he was fast…

He wouldn’t be fast. If Stephanie had vomited five times since midnight, she’d probably need to be admitted.

Medicine was for now.

Ginny was for tomorrow.

Their paths didn’t cross in the morning. Ginny came into the hospital early and spent two hours running a prenatal clinic she’d organised. She’d done it simply by putting a notice in the window of the general store.

“If you’re pregnant and would like your check-ups done here instead of Bowra, come along on Tuesday morning.”

The obstetrician in Bowra was delighted to have pressure taken off what was a vast workload, and Ginny ended up with twelve ladies to see. She did the antenatal checks but it ended up as an impromptu get-together of Cradle Lake’s prospective mums-something just as valuable as any medical advice she could have given.

Fergus came in at the end, but Ginny had just left.

‘She’s left us to natter,’ one of the ladies-a woman who by the look of her was planning on delivering her entire family in one hit-told him. ‘Oh, but she’s lovely. We were just telling her that when you leave we’ll try to persuade her to stay, and she didn’t say no. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?’

Fantastic?

Fergus frowned. Richard didn’t have long left. Ginny would leave straight away-he was certain of that. She’d organise Madison’s adoption and then head back to the city.

Which was where their relationship could maybe become something they could take seriously. Maybe they could take a step or two toward permanence.

Hell, it had been a one-night stand so far, he told himself, startling himself with where his thoughts were going. He’d made love to a woman who’d made him feel alive again, and it had started him thinking that maybe he didn’t need to cut himself right off from the world.

Fine. But one step at a time. If it worked out…

It had to work out.

No, it didn’t, he told himself, saying farewell to the happy cluster of mums-to-be and striding out to the truck to take a quick ride out to see Richard. He’d promised to drop in on Richard this morning and it was almost lunchtime.

And Ginny would be there.

There was no reason at all for his steps to quicken as he strode out of the hospital toward…

Toward Ginny?

His steps definitely quickened.