The Doctor’s Proposal

CHAPTER FIVE

DOLPHIN BAY Bush Nursing Hospital was a neat little building made of the deep grey stone of the local cliffs. It had wide verandas and a lovely, rambling garden, and as she pulled into the parking lot she could see half a dozen people pottering in the flower-beds. There were glimpses of the sea through the tangle of honeysuckle and bougainvillea, and a flock of white galahs was screeching and fighting for places on the branches of the towering gums.

She should transplant this place to Manhattan, she thought longingly. What a wonderful place to die.

What a wonderful place to live.

They all knew who she was. The moment she climbed out of the car she was watched, by the gardeners and by the patients sitting in the sun on the veranda, and a chirpy young nurse bustled out to greet her.

‘You’ll be Dr Kirsty. I’m Babs. We’ve been waiting for you.’

Dr Kirsty. Babs. This was as formal as it got in Dolphin Bay, Kirsty thought wryly, but she grinned.

‘Dr Cam- Dr Jake said to be here at ten.’

‘Yes, but Francis is in such a state that if we don’t knock him out soon, he’ll do a runner,’ Babs told her. She ushered her inside and flung open the theatre doors. ‘It’s OK, Jake. Kirsty’s here.’

Jake was already in theatre gear. He was systematically checking equipment but as Kirsty walked in he turned and smiled, and her heart did that crazy backflip she was starting to recognise. And starting to resent. Darn, why didn’t she get that backflip when Robert smiled?

This man didn’t want a relationship. Not!

‘You’ve been waiting for me?’ she managed.

‘We have the world’s scaredest patient,’ he told her. ‘Francis is sixty years old. Until his hernia got bad he was our local fire chief. Put him in front of wildfire and he’ll be the coolest head in the district, but show him a drop of blood and he’ll faint. He’s still in his room. I thought if we wheeled him along here and he caught sight of theatre gear, he might end up dying of shock.’

‘I’ll check him there, then, shall I?’ she asked, and he smiled again.

‘If you would. Is there anything else here that you need?’

She did a fast check. This should be a simple procedure-a simple anaesthetic. Even catering for terror.

The little theatre looked brilliant.

‘How many beds does the hospital have?’ she asked in surprise.

‘Twenty. Plus ten nursing-home beds.’

‘That’s too many for one doctor.’

‘You’re telling me. I have to work hard to keep them healthy.’

‘Jake makes his patients work in the garden,’ Babs said cheekily from the doorway. ‘He has a method of bowel control that’s second to none. You stay regular or you get garden duty.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘He gives out garden duty for everything,’ Babs continued. ‘You just sigh in this place and someone sticks a trowel in your hand.’

‘Don’t the patients object?’

‘They love it,’ Jake said, attempting a glower at the nurse. ‘Babs, go introduce Kirsty to Francis. I want him back here asleep in ten minutes.’

‘That’s if my checks are OK,’ Kirsty said, attempting to find some vestige of authority.

‘They will be,’ Babs said. ‘Otherwise you’ll be handed a trowel as well. Our Dr Jake runs a tight ship.’

There was no need for the trowel.

Francis was a big man, but he’d kept himself fit, he didn’t smoke and he had no underlying medical conditions to give her concern. The only problem was his terror, which was palpable the moment she entered the room.

‘Hi. I’m Dr Kirsty, your anaesthetist. I’m here to make you relax enough for Jake to fix your bump.’ Then she hesitated. The man was physically cringing. ‘Am I so scary?’

‘N-no, but…’

‘Does your wife ever get her hair set at the hairdresser? Does she ever sit under a dryer?’

‘Sure,’ he whispered, not knowing where this was going.

‘Well, I don’t want to scare you any more than you already are, but your wife has more chance of getting electrocuted under the dryer than you do of getting damaged by my anaesthetic. But Dr Jake’s telling me you’re scared.’

‘I’m not…it’s not…’

‘It’s not logical,’ she said, smiling and lifting his wrist, ostensibly to feel his pulse but in reality to give him the comfort of touch. ‘I know. Like I’m scared of moths. I can’t stand them; they make my hair stand on end. But if I had to face them in order to fix my life…’

‘You would?’

‘Actually, I wouldn’t,’ she conceded with a rueful smile. ‘Not without a lot of screaming and running and general loss of dignity. What I might do, though-if I had to face them-is ask a nice doctor to give me something to make me sleepy and dreamy and away with the fairies, so that any moth could go bump into me and I’d simply wave and smile.’

That drew a reluctant smile. ‘You’re saying you could give me something like that.’

‘Ooh, the very nicest of drugs,’ she told him. ‘Guaranteed to make you smile and wave till the cows come home.’

‘Till the cows come home,’ he said, dazed. ‘I thought you were from New York?’

‘I’m learning the local lingo,’ she said, with a certain amount of pride. ‘Australian country talk. I can talk about mates and blokes and anything to do with a heap of dung you care to mention. I think I have an ear for languages. Now I’m staying with Angus, it’s Australian with a Scottish accent. So will you let me give you my hallucinogenic substance?’

He seemed even more dazed. Terror had receded in the face of her ridiculousness. ‘It’ll make me go to sleep?’ he managed, but he didn’t sound as if it was a dreadful idea.

‘No,’ she told him. ‘Not my dream stuff. It’ll simply make you relax. Then, if it’s OK with you-and only if it’s OK with you-we can take the next step and give you something so you have a swift sleep while Dr Jake fixes your bump. If you don’t feel relaxed then you can back out. But you do want your hernia fixed, right?’

‘Right,’ he whispered.

‘You really do?’

‘Y-yes.’

‘Well done,’ she told him, releasing his wrist and touching the back of his weathered hand lightly with her own. ‘There’s courage and there’s courage. My moths and your anaesthetic. You want to start now?’

‘Y- Maybe.’

‘Then let’s do step one,’ she told him. ‘You close your eyes while Babs holds your hand, you’ll feel one tiny prick, then we’ll see if my fairy dust works. We can take it from there.’

She administered the propofol, then stood and chatted some more, watching as his eyes became confused-but not terrified at all. She was even making him smile.

‘Next step?’ she asked, and got a sleepy, fuzzy nod for her pains.

Hooray. She needed to let Jake know they were due to start.

She heard a faint movement in the doorway and turned, expecting to see an orderly.

But it was Jake.

He was looking at her with blatant admiration.

How long had he been here? She felt a blush starting at her toes and working its way up. This man had the power to seriously unsettle her. He was almost as unsettling as moths,

‘You’re good,’ he told her, and she struggled for composure-struggled to give him her very smuggest smile.

‘I know,’ she told him. ‘Francis and I are developing a very nice relationship. Aren’t you sorry you’re not into relationships yourself?’

She shouldn’t have said it.

The operation was done in almost total silence. The atmosphere was so tense it was almost unbearable. Not only did he not want to take their relationship any further, she’d killed any friendship they might have been starting to build.

Which was a shame.

She very much wanted to keep working with him, she decided as she watched his fingers perform the delicate piece of surgery to relieve Francis of his hernia. It wasn’t a particularly difficult operation, but his fingers were swift and sure. He was meticulous in everything he did. Francis would be left with minimal scarring and a super-fast recovery because of it.

He was a seriously good surgeon, she thought. He was wasted in Dolphin Bay.

And then she thought, no, he wasn’t wasted in Dolphin Bay. A place like this was lucky to have him. Susie would be blessed to have him if she got into trouble at delivery. If every country town could have a doctor as good as Jake…

‘Blood pressure?’ Jake snapped, and she told him, aware that she’d been watching him for a moment and this was a ruse to make her look at her dials instead of looking at him. She flushed. There was no need to remind her to do her job. He might be a good surgeon, but she knew enough about anaesthesia for her attention never to stray away for more than a second or two at a time. Francis’s anaesthetic was the lightest she could give. She had him intubated but his vital signs were steady, his colour was great and every indication was that this surgery would cause him minimal discomfort.

‘Reverse,’ Jake snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Say please,’ she said mildly, and Babs choked.

Jake glared. ‘What?’

‘Say please…sir.’

‘Kirsty…’

‘Politeness is everything. We may as well start the way we mean to go on.’

‘Please,’ he said, goaded, and she smiled.

‘That’s better,’ she approved. She turned to Babs. ‘He’s very autocratic for a surgeon, isn’t he? I thought you had to be at least an orthodontist before you let go of the please.’

‘Can we concentrate on what’s important?’ Jake snapped, and she very nearly said Say please again.

Then she glanced at his face and saw the lines of strain around his eyes and thought better of it.

Whatever was eating him, she wasn’t going to break through with laughter.

She probably wasn’t going to break through at all.

‘Is it over?’ Francis surfaced terrified, his eyes wild and frantic. Jake was hauling his gloves off and Kirsty leaned over, took Francis’s hands in hers and held. Hard.

‘It’s done. You’ve conquered your fear. You’re awake. Jake’s fixed your hernia, your wife is waiting to see you and all you have to show is a three-inch square dressing on your tummy. Six stitches. When you wake up a bit more, you can have a look.’

‘It’s done?’

‘It is. The operation is completely finished. All that’s left is my fairy dust, making you a bit sleepy. If I were you, I’d settle back for a nice long nap.’

He searched her eyes, hope warring with fear, dreading that she might not be telling the truth.

But then Jake was behind her, gripping her shoulder, presenting them as a team.

‘She’s right, mate. You’re a new man. Thanks to our Dr Kirsty.’

‘She’s a ripper,’ Francis whispered. ‘A real ripper.’

‘Not a particularly respectful ripper,’ Jake said steadily. ‘But a ripper for all that.’

Francis closed his eyes. Jake stepped back, releasing Kirsty. The orderly moved in to wheel the trolley back out into the corridor. Jake moved into the washroom, but Kirsty stood still for a while longer.

Until the sensation of fingers pressing against her shoulder was completely gone.

He had a list.

The hernia had been a test, she realised. By the time she’d got rid of her hospital gown Jake was waiting for her, and he handed her a slip of paper.

Dorothy Miller: Veins

Mark Glaston: Basal cell carcinoma

Scotty Anderson: Osteochondroma

‘What’s this?’ she asked cautiously. She was in the corridor outside Theatre. Maybe they could have gone somewhere else to talk. Jake must have an office, she thought, but maybe showing her into an office might get her alone. That might constitute a relationship.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, sounding exasperated, and she knew she didn’t have to say it out loud for him to know what she was thinking. ‘I overreacted yesterday.’

‘You did.’

‘So don’t rub it in.’

‘Tell me about the list,’ she said coolly, and there was a moment’s hesitation while he considered whether to take her antagonism further. But he obviously-and wisely-decided against it.

‘Dorothy Miller has the most appalling varicose veins,’ he told her. ‘One burst last month and it came close to killing her. She’s eighty and she won’t go to the city to get them fixed. She says if she dies she dies, but I’d prefer her not to. Mark has a basal cell carcinoma on his face that’s been incompletely excised. He needs a full-thickness excision and a skin graft. It’s a simple job, but Mark’s wife is blind, they have two small children and for him to leave for a night is a major drama. I told him he’d have to find a way and he agreed, but now you’re here I’ll do it myself.’

‘Now that I’ve proved myself competent,’ she said dryly, and he had the grace to smile.

‘As you say.’

‘And the osteochondroma?’

Bony growths where they shouldn’t be were a common childhood problem so it was no surprise when he said, ‘Scotty is four years old. The osteochondroma is on his leg. I biopsied it and it’s fine but it’s growing. Scotty’s mother is a single mum with three other littlies dependent on her. It’d be a heck of a lot easier if we did it here.’

‘So you really do need me,’ she said, cheering up, and he looked a bit shamefaced.

‘Um…yes.’ There was another momentary hesitation. ‘What you did with Mavis… I’ve been out there this morning and she tells me you’ve already phoned and adjusted the dose. But already the change is miraculous. And here…all these things can wait, but as you’re here and not busy…’

‘You may as well use me,’ she agreed. She paused, and then decided to push it. ‘You know, you really do need to learn to chat to me, though,’ she told him. ‘I’m not accustomed to silence. Maybe we can get piped music in Theatre. Or piped gossip. That’s what I’m used to back home.’

His face stayed expressionless. ‘Silence makes for concentration.’

‘Sure, and you need to concentrate really hard on a hernia op. It’s nail-biting life-and-death drama.’

‘You’re being silly.’

‘You don’t think it’s you who’s being silly?’

‘Am I?’ he demanded. ‘Kirsty, leave it.’

But the look on his face was making her angry all over again. It was like he was afraid of her. As if he was wary that she’d push him into something he didn’t want.

‘I don’t want this,’ he added, and she glowered.

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t you push this any further,’ she warned. ‘If you’re about to say something about me feeling what you’re feeling and it’s not wise, or that you’re instinctively realising that I want your body but you don’t want me, or really you’d love to make mad, passionate love to me but you’re a closet gay…’

There was the sound of choking and Babs was goggle-eyed behind them. The nurse had her hand to her mouth, as if she’d tried to keep herself silent but failed. Just as well, Kirsty thought. She was way out of line.

She collected herself. Sort of. Just for a moment there she’d almost been enjoying herself, hauling the self-contained Dr Jake Cameron right out of his comfort zone.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she managed, turning and smiling at Babs. ‘I’m an American. We’re known for being forward, if not downright ridiculous.’ She turned back to Jake. ‘But, of course, I’ll do your list, Dr Cameron. Any time. Anywhere. But not now, as I’m off home to our castle to check on Angus and Susie.’ She took another deep breath and almost recovered.

‘Don’t fret that you were eavesdropping,’ she said finally to Babs. ‘What you heard-very clearly-was me not propositioning your Dr Jake.’

What was it with the man? All the way home she fumed, trying to figure out what her hormones were doing to her. Why was she feeling like this?

Jake wasn’t the only one who didn’t do relationships. Kirsty had no intention of letting herself go down that route.

She’d learned early. When Kirsty and Susie had been ten their mother had died unexpectedly and tragically of a subarachnoid haemorrhage. They’d all been devastated-of course-but their father had been passionately in love with his wife and he’d never recovered.

Two years after his wife had died, Taylor McMahon had taken his own life, leaving his little girls to a succession of foster-homes.

Love must be appalling to do that to you, Kirsty had reasoned, and she’d decided then and there that she’d never let herself feel that way about anyone but Susie.

When Susie had met Rory…for a little while Kirsty had let herself start believing again in happy-ever-after. Only then Rory had died. Of course. The whole appalling cycle had started again-trying to drag someone you loved back from the brink.

It wasn’t going to happen to her. She dated nice safe men who left her emotionally free. That was the way of survival. Nice safe Robert…

If Jake thought she’d threaten that by falling for him, he had to be joking.

So cut it out, she told herself. Quit it with the hormones. The man is seriously threatening to your peace of mind. As well as that, he’s seriously committed to his twins and you’re not the least bit interested in playing Mom. Even if he was interested. Even if you’re interested. Which you’re not.

A ready-made family would be the pits.

She pulled into the castle forecourt and Jake’s two little girls came racing out the front door to meet her. There goes that argument, she thought bitterly as they tugged open her car door. These two buttons were seriously cute.

‘We saw you coming from upstairs,’ Alice announced-or was it Penelope? They were identically dressed in miniature jeans and grubby windcheaters. Their shoes were caked with mud, and their curls were escaping from the crimson ribbons at the ends of their pigtails. ‘Angus went for a nap and Susie said we had to go up and tell him that Spike’s measurement is a whole half-inch wider than yesterday. Mr Boyce says Spike’s going to be ginormous.’

‘And Boris got paw marks all over Angus’s bed when we let him in,’ her twin announced, big with importance in the telling of such a tale. ‘Margie growled, and then she saw our muddy shoes. She told us we were rascals and we had to hop it-but Angus says he likes rascals. Then we saw your car so we thought we might hop it anyway.’

‘So we hopped all the way down the stairs,’ the other twin explained again, grinning a hugely appealing gap-toothed grin. ‘The stairs here are beeyootiful. Penelope can hop three stairs at a time and I nearly can but not all the time.’

‘You need practice,’ Kirsty said, smiling as she climbed out of the car. She looked behind the twins to where Susie was balancing on crutches in the doorway. Her twin was smiling, and Kirsty had a sudden vision of how her own twin had looked when she had been this age. They must have both looked like this, she thought. Happy, bubbly little girls with not a care between them.

Susie’s smile was like that now, she thought in surprise. It was an echo of the past when as twins they’d done their own hopping. Before life had got in the way and they’d realised the damage love could cause. But Susie’s smile had been resurrected by this place. By Angus and by Jake and by these two little girls.

Don’t you dare let your hormones mess with this, she told herself fiercely. Start acting professionally with Dr Cameron.

‘Margie says as soon as you come back, we have to go home,’ one of the twins was saying. They grabbed a hand each and started tugging her toward the door. ‘But you have to see Spike first. We want to show you ourselves. He’s humungous and Susie said he’s getting humungouser.’

‘Humungouser?’ she said faintly, and from the doorway Susie giggled. It was a great sound, Kirsty thought. It had been so long since Susie had giggled regularly.

‘He’s a wonderful pumpkin,’ she managed, trying not to sound choked up.

‘Please, can we stay for lunch?’ a twin was begging. ‘We’ll ring Daddy and tell him we have to. Mr Boyce is out minding Spike, and Margie says he’s as happy as a pig in mud and we can stay for lunch as long as you say it’s OK and so does Daddy.’

‘What do you think?’ Kirsty asked her twin, when she could get a word in edgeways, and Susie’s smile broadened.

‘I think these kids are great.’

‘I think this place is great,’ Kirsty told her.

‘Did you have fun with Jake this morning?’

Kirsty eyed her twin with caution. The problem with being a twin was that you were known too well.

‘We did a very satisfactory operation.’

‘That’s nice,’ Susie said demurely.

Kirsty thought, Yep, she’d been sussed.

‘But can we stay?’ the twins said plaintively.

‘You ring Jake and ask if the girls can stay for lunch,’ she told Susie.

‘You don’t want to?’

‘Dr Cameron and I have what’s becoming a very cool relationship,’ she retorted. ‘So don’t get any ideas.’

‘Me?’ Susie asked, starting forward on her crutches with an ease that Kirsty found extraordinary. ‘When have I ever? Oh, by the way, Robert called. He said to say he was sorry he missed you this morning. He’s going out of town for the weekend but he might find time to ring you on Monday. Now, that,’ she told the little girls as they tugged Kirsty forward to join her sister, ‘that’s what a really passionate relationship ought to be.’

‘Susie…’ Kirsty said warningly, and that delicious chuckle sounded out again.

‘I know. I’m sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted. But I’m enjoying myself and, oh, Kirsty, it feels so good.’

The twins and the Boyces were permitted to stay.

‘Jake sounded really reluctant,’ Susie reported after phoning. ‘He kept saying he didn’t want the twins to be any trouble, but how can they be when Margie and Ben are here? Margie is lovely and she says she’d much rather babysit here than back in the village.’

It was hard to figure out who was babysitting who, Kirsty thought as the afternoon wore on. After lunch, by common consensus, they returned to the vegetable patch to superintend Spike’s growth spurt. Angus and Ben perched on a garden bench in the sun and discussed the merits of different varieties of pumpkin. Susie lay on her mattress, alternatively dozing and supervising Alice and Penelope making mud pies. Margie sat herself down on a rocker on the porch, knitting and listening to her favourite radio show. We look like the Brady Bunch, Kirsty thought suddenly. All contentment and calm.

Who knew what was seething underneath?

She grinned at herself, and her twin saw the grin and demanded an explanation.

‘Domesticity plus,’ she said, and Susie gave a sleepy smile.

‘Jake should be here. It’s sad that he spends so little time with his girls. You should help him more while you’re here, Kirsty, so he can be free.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ she said stiffly.

The doorbell rang. Or, as Kirsty had now learned, the bell on the intercom connected to the gate rang.

‘We’re not home,’ Susie said with a yawn. ‘This is perfect. We don’t need anyone else.’

They didn’t. But it might be Jake. He did have a right to be here. And maybe…maybe he could stay for a while, Kirsty thought. Then she gave herself a harsh mental slap for the thought. But she did get up to go and open the gate.

Professional relationship, she told herself firmly as she walked out to the castle entrance.

But before she got there she realised she’d made a mistake, It wouldn’t be Jake. He had a key and his own remote controller for the gates.

But she was already at the entrance. She might as well see who…

It wasn’t an insurance salesman. She opened the door and it was a man who looked like Rory.

‘Rory,’ she said-blankly-unable to believe her eyes. But, of course, she had to be mistaken. Susie’s husband had been dead for six months. And when she looked closer this man was different. He had a slighter build, different hair colour, different features…

Different but the same.

‘I’m Kenneth Douglas,’ he told her, and all was explained. Rory’s brother was Kenneth. Kirsty had never seen him. Susie had met him once, just before Rory had been killed, and she’d reported that he was a creep.

But he was here. He was Rory’s brother.

‘Hi,’ she said, holding out her hand in greeting. ‘I’m Susie’s sister, Kirsty.’

‘Susie?’ he said blankly.

‘Rory’s wife, Susie.’

His face froze. ‘Rory’s wife is here?’

‘Yes.’

‘She has no right.’

‘Angus seems to think she’s very welcome,’ Kirsty told him, struggling to keep her smile in place. She hesitated, not wanting this man to interrupt their lovely afternoon but knowing that he was Angus’s nephew, knowing that he was Rory’s brother. She had no grounds for denying him entrance. ‘We’re all in the vegetable garden,’ she told him. ‘Do you want me to take you through?’

‘Who’s in the vegetable garden?’

‘Your uncle-’

‘Angus isn’t here.’ It was an appalled hiss. ‘He’s in a nursing home. He was moving there yesterday. He’s dying.’

Grief and fear did odd things to people, Kirsty knew. She wasn’t tempted to react to this with anger.

‘I don’t think he is dying,’ she said gently. ‘We’ve persuaded him that oxygen will help, and it’s been wonderful. He’s back gardening.’

‘The doctor said he was going into a nursing home.’

‘Now we’re here, he doesn’t have to leave. He can stay for as long as he wants.’

‘We?’ the man said, and there was no doubting that his overriding emotion was anger. ‘Who’s we?’

‘My sister and I.’

‘Your sister has no right,’ he hissed again. ‘Who the hell does she think she is? I thought she was too badly injured to travel. I thought she was done with.’

She wanted to slam the door in his face at that, but it was too late. He was through.

‘Look, Mr Douglas-’

‘I want to see her,’ he said, and he was striding toward the vegetable garden so fast she practically had to run to keep up. ‘If she’s messing with the old man’s treatment-if she thinks there’s anything here for her… Rory’s dead and I’m the only one who has any say in how the old man is treated. Me.’

‘I’m sorry, but…’ He’d reached the side gate and he hauled it open while she struggled to think how to deflect him. There was no way. He’d hauled open the gate and was staring through at the scene of domesticity in front of him.

Angus and Ben discussing pumpkins.

Alice and Penelope turning their skills from mud pies to mud sausages-arguing over whose was the longest.

Margie knitting.

And Susie, rising on one elbow to see who it was. Susie, recognising Kenneth’s face and trying, falteringly, to smile a welcome. Susie pushing herself into a sitting position. Hampered by her weakness and her advanced pregnancy.

‘Kenneth,’ she whispered.

Kirsty glanced again at Rory’s brother and got a shock.

Every vestige of colour had drained from his face. If she hadn’t reached forward fast and supported him, he would have fallen. He slumped, and she had to assist him to sit on the low stone wall by the gate.

He put his head in his hands and she could see him visibly brace. Stiffen. Look up.

‘You’re pregnant,’ he said in a voice of loathing, of fury and of pure shock. ‘You’re pregnant with Rory’s child.’