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‘I’m here until Easter.’
Six weeks! No. No. No! She sat down before she fell down.
* * *
Charlie watched Lauren’s hand grip the edge of her desk before she skated her chair in close. Granted, he’d been accused by women in the past of missing emotional clues but there was nothing subtle about Lauren’s anger. She seethed with it—its tentacles lashing and whipping him from the moment he’d spied her across the clinic foyer. That she was angry with him was clear. Why she was angry was another matter entirely.
Yesterday, after they’d cleared up a decade-old misunderstanding and he’d apologised, they’d shared a companionable afternoon watching Bogart and Hepburn on TV slugging it out in The African Queen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat and watched a movie from start to finish without either being interrupted or interrupting himself. But there was nothing friendly or companionable about Lauren now.
Was it pain-induced anger and distress? He’d been surprised to see her at the clinic, especially as the registrar at Surfside Hospital, her parents, Lexie and himself had all told her she needed to take three days off to give her ribs a chance to ease and start healing. She’d appeared to listen and agree and yet here she was, extremely irritable and unhappy. If they had been fencing and she’d been holding a sabre, he’d have been in danger of being run through.
With a brisk and practised move, Lauren clicked on her mouse and her computer screen flickered to life. ‘Please go back to enjoying your holiday.’
Enjoying his holiday? That was an oxymoron. He was more than happy to work. He’d already calculated that if he did two sessions a day at the clinic Monday to Friday—hell, he’d work weekends too—he might just survive the next six weeks of imposed leave. Meanwhile, Lauren’s complexion was tinged with the tight whiteness of pain and he wanted to ease that.
‘Lauren, why are you pushing yourself? No one expects you to work for the rest of the week.’
‘I have patients.’
‘Who I’m more than happy to look after.’ He’d only done two hours’ work so far this morning but already he felt lighter and far more like himself. He loved surgery but he was getting a kick from interacting with patients in a different way. ‘It’s been a bit like old home week. Mr. Colvin remembered me.’
When he and Harry had been twelve and nine respectively, they’d been given the job of meeting the cray boat on the pier. The instructions from their parents had been simple—buy the biggest two. Harry had always winced at the scream when the cray hit the hot water, whereas Charlie had been fascinated by the chemistry of how applying heat to the shell changed it from a dark blue-brown to bright red. It was probably why he’d become a doctor, whereas Harry—His thoughts veered away from all the unfulfilled potential that had been stolen from his brother. The guilt sneaked in anyway.
‘Mr C. brought you a crayfish as a get-well gift. I was going to drop it over to you later but why not take it home with you now?’ Charlie gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Lexie and I have got this. All you need to do is sleep, rest and recuperate.’
‘I’m not asking you to give up your leave.’
‘You’re not. I’m offering,’ he said expansively. ‘After all, it’s what friends do.’
‘No.’ She speared him with a mutinous look. ‘Friends don’t assume.’
Assume? Now she’d lost him. ‘I’m not assuming anything. I deal in facts. Your X-rays prove you’re injured.’
‘Yes, but this is my practice. These are my patients.’
‘Of course they’re your patients, but I can help both them and you.’ He cast around for an example to prove his point and to shore up his position. ‘For instance, Mackenzie Strickland. Her situation wasn’t urgent so Surfside wouldn’t help her and, yes, technically she could have waited until Monday, but given what she’s going through, I was able to ease her anxiety and save you from overdoing things.’ He smiled at her, trying to connect and crack her granite expression. ‘You know, I got as much of a buzz from telling Mackenzie she’s pregnant as I did recently saving a kid’s life.’
Two pink spots burned Lauren’s otherwise pale cheeks. ‘In general practice it’s all about the relationship with the patient. For months I’ve had to give Mackenzie bad news and help her deal with her grief as she experienced yet another miscarriage.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Another lost dream.’
She sucked in a deep breath as if needing to steady herself. ‘The results of her chorionic villi sampling was my news to tell, not yours. You don’t have the right to swan in here and take over without even consulting me. I don’t need your help and I’d like you to leave.’
A thrum of disquiet stirred, underpinned by disappointment laced with worry. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to walk back through the doors of the clinic and face a long day of beachcombing, reading and going crazy. He wanted to work. Needed to work. ‘Surely you can cut a guy some slack for well-intentioned assistance?’
‘It’s not the sort of assistance I need.’
But I need this. ‘I’ll be more consultative, I promise.’
‘Between Surfside, Lexie, my mother, and me working reduced hours, we’re covered.’
Agitation swooped in, pushing out the feel-good emotions of the morning. ‘Why risk falling in a heap from working when you don’t have to? Hell, I’m here. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?’ Damn and blast. He’d meant to sound as if he was doing her a favour but all he could hear was the thread of pleading in his voice.
Her beautiful light brown eyes narrowed. ‘Why does an Australian Aid trauma surgeon on precious holidays want to waste his time working in general practice in Horseshoe Bay?’
‘Hell, Lauren,’ he said belligerently, trying to deflect her. ‘Do you always give people who are trying to help you the third degree?’
‘Only the ones who clearly have something to hide.’
‘I don’t have anything to hide.’
‘Good.’ She pressed the intercom. ‘Lexie, Charlie Ainsworth is just leaving so as soon as you see him exit the building, send in the next patient.’
‘But, Lauren—’
Her finger came off the intercom and Lexie’s voice cut off. Lauren skewered him with a look of icy determination. ‘Enjoy your day.’
His temper frayed. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Am I? Picture this. Without asking, I stroll into your operating theatre and do the complicated surgery you’ve spent days planning and dreaming about.’
‘I’d welcome it.’
‘Liar. You’d hate it.’
She was right, he’d be ropeable. He sighed. ‘Okay, fair call.’
She gave him a long, assessing look and it took everything he had not to squirm in the chair. Keep it all buried. He matched her with a direct gaze of his own and threw in a sardonic raised brow. She blinked first. Good. Standing slowly, she walked around the desk. As he was still sitting, it was pure power play so he rose and was immediately taller than her.
‘Charlie, what’s really going on?’
‘Nothing.’ He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Like I said, I was only trying to help you. I should have curbed my enthusiasm.’
She wriggled her nose. ‘I’d understand your help more if we’d had an emergency. What I don’t understand is the help with the mundane stuff that can wait, especially on a glorious blue-sky day with great waves. It’s almost as if you don’t want to be on holidays...’
He gave an ‘as if’ laugh to move her far, far away from the truth.
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, my, God, that’s it, isn’t it? It’s killing you not to be working.’
Every part of him wanted to deny it but she had him cornered. ‘You’ve got me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m a workaholic. So, really, you’re helping me by letting me work,’ he quipped, and added a big grin for good measure.
She didn’t laugh. In fact, the expression on her face was more aligned with pity than humour. ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
Okay? What woman ever said that to a refusal to discuss feelings? And yet, twelve years ago, he and Lauren had never talked about their emotions so in a way this ‘okay’ made sense. ‘What do you want me to do next?’ he asked, thinking about the patients in the waiting room.
‘According to the radio, there’s flathead biting off the end of the pier. You might be able to fill your day that way.’
‘Very funny.’
She hit him with an uncompromising stare. ‘Or you can tell me why you’re in Horseshoe Bay when you clearly don’t want to be on holidays. Then I’ll let you see some patients.’
‘I thought doctors were supposed to be caring people,’ he grumbled, trying to hide his anxiety.
‘We are.’ Her hand rested on his arm. ‘But we can also be our own worst enemies.’
He gazed down at her, wanting to lose himself in her clear gaze and kiss her until his mind was blank, but she wasn’t looking at him with anything other than concern for a friend. Damn it. He’d been the one to raise the friend issue. He’d planted that seed. What the hell had he been thinking? Every time he looked at her he wanted to pull her close, hold her tight and breathe in her fresh, sea scent. Who was he kidding? He wanted her naked—under him, over him, with him.
He gave himself a shake and decided the bare bones were all she needed—all he was prepared to give. ‘I got caught in a cyclone.’
‘Oh, God. That must have been terrifying.’
Not as terrifying as being home. ‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m fine but Australia Aidwon’t put me in the field again until I’ve ticked all the trauma recovery boxes. The thing is, I’m better when I work.’
She tilted her head, her beautiful eyes assessing him, and he got the feeling she saw straight through him. ‘How long since you last had a holiday?’
‘I don’t do relaxation.’
‘I can see that. You look exhausted.’
Frustration bubbled in his veins. ‘Listen, I didn’t come to Horseshoe Bay to get the same lecture I’m getting from Australia Aid.’
‘That says a lot.’
‘Again...’ he breathed in deeply and tried to keep a lid on his temper ‘... I already have a counsellor, so...’
Her brows rose. ‘Prickly.’
He wasn’t touching that but his temper frayed anyway. ‘Can I work or not?’
The cogs of her intelligent mind were reflected in her all-seeing eyes. ‘Until I’m back at work, you can do the morning session and finish at one.’
That’s not enough. ‘It makes more sense for me to do the whole day.’
‘Not from where I’m standing. Do you have any idea how drawn you are? How unkempt you look?’
‘What the hell does that have to do with anything?’
‘It has everything to do with it. A lot of my patients are in better shape than you.’ She sighed. ‘Look, Charlie, I don’t know why you’re fighting your R&R but you need it. My offer’s a four-hour workday for three days and then we’ll review it. Take it or leave it.’
The girl he’d once been able to talk round with flattery and kisses was nowhere to be seen. ‘When did you become such a hardball negotiator?’
She didn’t laugh or smile and she didn’t reply using words—she didn’t have to, it was written all over her face. That’s when he remembered what she’d told him just before the car had careened at them.
Divorced.
He had an unreasonable urge to punch her ex-husband.
* * *
‘Watching paint dry is more exciting than this,’ Charlie grumbled.
‘You have to be patient,’ Shaylee said, her elfin face set in a serious and determined expression. ‘Ian says the fish know if you’re in a bad mood.’
Lauren laughed, loving the way children cut straight through the nonsense. ‘There you go, Charlie. Our lack of fish falls firmly at your feet.’
Instead of rolling his eyes, Charlie grinned at her over the top of Shaylee’s head—all white teeth and sparkling eyes as blue as the sea that lay at their feet. A bolt of pleasure whizzed through her, zeroing in between her legs with a flash of heat, making her thighs tighten and the rest of her twitch. Being friends with Charlie was killing her.
It was Saturday afternoon and they were on the end of the pier, trying to catch dinner. Lauren’s ribs were no longer hurting quite as much and after three days of enforced rest she had a bad case of cabin fever. She’d offered to take Shaylee fishing to free up her parents so they could attend and enjoy an eightieth birthday afternoon tea without worrying about a bored eight-year-old. Lauren wasn’t exactly certain how Charlie had ended up joining them on the pier, especially as he appeared to hate fishing, although she suspected he just hated being still. Was that why he was fighting his R&R? Perhaps she should suggest he do an ecotourism high-adrenaline holiday.
I don’t do relaxation, he’d said. He wasn’t kidding. His line was jiggling up and down in his hand like he had a tremor or a tic. Each day, after his morning session at the clinic, Charlie had called in on her at the cottage and given her a quick handover while he made her lunch. She was positive she hadn’t mentioned the fishing plans to him and yet he’d materialised in the car park just in time to help carry the gear. Why? For a moment she’d toyed with the idea that he’d taken on board her advice to find ways to chill out but, watching him, she knew the idea to be ludicrous.
‘You won’t get a bite if you keep jiggling the rod,’ she said, deliberately glancing away from his seductive smile.
‘I’m creating excitement and anticipation in the fish world by constantly moving the hook.’
She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. ‘Interesting strategy. Want to bet on it?’ Seriously? What are you doing?
His eyes lit up. ‘Fifty bucks?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of the person who doesn’t hook the first fish fillets the catch.’
‘Let’s take it one step further. The loser fillets and cooks.’
His dimples twinkled at her, making her feel giddy. ‘You’re on, Charlie. I’m so going to win this.’
‘Lauren!’ Shaylee squealed. Her line bobbed up and down wildly.
Charlie shot out his right hand to steady it and Lauren reeled in her own line before scrambling to her feet and kneeling behind Shaylee. ‘Okay, honey, we have to do this slowly.’
‘It’s pulling me,’ Shaylee cried with a hint of fear underneath her excitement.
‘Crikey.’ Charlie tightened his grip. ‘You can’t do this one-handed, Lauren. Reel in my line and I’ll help her.’
She grabbed his rod. ‘Slowly, Charlie. Slowly.’
‘I reckon you’ve caught a brick, Shaylee. Put your hands over mine.’ Charlie played the line, his hands looking large under the little girl’s.
‘Bricks don’t bite hooks, silly.’ But she was gazing up at Charlie as if he was some sort of hero.
Lauren knew that look—a long time ago she’d been guilty of it herself. Now she was wiser. She was never putting a man on a pedestal again. ‘Don’t break the line,’ she instructed—her shame and regret about Jeremy making the words more brusque than necessary.
‘Like that’s my intention,’ Charlie muttered, as he gave the line some slack.
A small crowd of anglers and onlookers gathered around them, many offering suggestions and pondering out loud what Shaylee might have caught.
‘Could be a flathead,’ a tourist offered.
