Wedding at Sunday Creek. Leah Martyn
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moment I’d settle for any brand as long as it was cold.’ He hooked out a chair. ‘Are you joining me?’
She gave a stilted smile. ‘I have a glass of wine here.’
‘What do we do about meals?’ Jack indicated she should sit at the table with him.
‘At the moment there’s just Lauren and me.’ Darcie met his questioning look neutrally. ‘So it’s all been a bit haphazard, depending what shifts she’s on. We tend to just grab something from the hospital kitchen. But now you’re here, perhaps we should get a better system going. Do a regular shop.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ He rolled back his shoulders and stretched. ‘What about right now? I’m starved. What can the fridge yield up?’
‘There’s some watermelon and fudge,’ Darcie deadpanned.
‘OK,’ Jack said with studied calm. ‘I see you’ve covered all the essential food groups.’
Her spontaneous laugh rippled out, the action bringing her whole face into vivid life.
Instinctively, Jack swayed forward, staring at the sweet curve of her laughing mouth. And feeling something else. Oh, good grief. Instantly, he took control of his wild thoughts, anchoring his feet more firmly under the table.
Darcie tilted her head to one side. ‘If we’d known you were coming—’
‘You’d have baked a cake,’ Jack rejoined, sitting up straighter.
‘Or cooked a roast.’
He chuckled. ‘So, you’re telling me there’s nothing in the fridge we can make a meal with. No leftovers?’
She shook her head.
‘A remnant of cheese? A couple of lonely eggs?’
‘Sorry.’
‘What about the pub, then? Food OK?’
‘Pretty good. And it’s steak night, if that’s what you want to hear.’
‘Excellent.’ He downed the last of the beer and got to his feet. ‘Let’s go, then, Dr Drummond. I’m shouting dinner.’
‘We’ll take my vehicle,’ Darcie said. ‘It’s a bit of a step up to the town centre.’
‘What do I do about getting a vehicle?’ Jack asked as they walked over to her car.
‘The local Rotary Club bought a new Land Rover for the MD’s use. It’s presently garaged at the hospital. OK if we sort all that tomorrow?’
‘Yup.’ Jack opened the car door, sat down and leaned back against the headrest, deciding any further conversation about the practice could wait.
* * *
It was a typical country pub, Jack observed, with a bar, a billiard table and a scattering of tables and chairs.
‘There’s a beer garden through there.’ Darcie indicated the softly lit outdoor area. ‘We just have to order at the bar first.’
‘So, what would you like to eat?’ He guided her to the blackboard menu. ‘Uh—big choice, I see,’ he said dryly. ‘Steak and vegetables or steak and chips and salad.’
‘I’ll have the steak and salad,’ Darcie said. ‘No chips.’
‘You don’t like chips?’ Jack pretended outrage.
‘I like chips,’ she responded, ‘just not with everything.’
They ordered and were told there might be a bit of a wait. ‘Let’s have a drink, then,’ Jack said. ‘Another wine?’
She shook her head. ‘Mineral water, I think.’
‘OK. Me as well. I don’t want to fall asleep.’
Darcie sent him a cool look. Nice to know he found her conversation so scintillating. Being Friday evening, the beer garden was crowded. ‘Most folk are friendly here,’ she said, returning greetings from several of the locals.
‘And you’ve made friends since you’ve been here?’ Jack asked as they made their way to a vacant table.
‘It’s been good,’ she evaded lightly. ‘You’re getting well looked over,’ she added, taking the chair he held for her.
‘I’d better behave myself, then.’
‘Will that be difficult?’
‘I’m not given to dancing on tables, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Darcie propped her chin on her upturned hand. ‘I’ve never actually seen anyone do that.’
‘I tried it once.’
‘Were you drunk?’
‘Are you shocked?’ Jack’s teasing smile warmed the space between them. ‘Final interviews were over and I knew they’d offer me a place on the surgical training programme.’
She raised an eyebrow. Oh, to have such confidence. But, then, she reasoned, Jack Cassidy seemed to be brimming with it. She took a deep breath and decided to find out more about this man who had literally dropped out of the sky and was now to all intents and purposes her boss. ‘So—where have you come from today?’
His mouth tipped at the corner. ‘You mean by the way I was dressed?’
And his tan. ‘Well, I didn’t imagine you’d just arrived from London.’
‘No.’ He picked up his glass unhurriedly and took a mouthful of his drink. ‘I’ve been trekking in New Guinea for the past couple of weeks. I did part of the Kokoda track. I always promised my grandfather I’d walk it for him one day. His battalion was stationed there in the Second World War.’
‘So, it has some significance for Australians, then?’
He nodded. ‘Our lads were heroes in all kinds of ways. I got some good pics of the general area and managed to run off some film footage too. Next time I see Pa, he’ll be able to see how it is now, although it’s many years on, of course.’
Darcie felt her heartbeat quicken. She guessed this was her opportunity to extend their personal relationship a little further, ask about his family. But somehow it all felt a bit...intimate. And he’d probably feel compelled to reciprocate, enquire about her family. And as yet she hadn’t been able to go there in any depth—not even with Maggie. While she was still cobbling her thoughts together, her attention was distracted by the sight of one of the hotel staff making his way swiftly between tables, almost running towards them. Darcie jumped to her feet.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jack’s head spun round, his eyes following her gaze. He sensed an emergency and shoved his chair back as he stood. ‘Do you know him?’
Darcie’s eyes lit with concern. ‘It’s Warren Rowe. He’s the manager—’
‘Thank God you’re here, Darcie.’ Warren looked pale and shaken. ‘The chef—young Nathan—he’s had an electric shock. We need a doctor.’
‘You’ve got two!’ Jack turned urgently to Darcie. ‘Grab your bag! I’ll do what I can for the casualty.’
‘How long has he been down?’ Jack rapped out the question as the two men sped along the veranda to the kitchen.
‘Not sure. Couple of minutes at most.’ Warren palmed open the swing doors and jerked to a stop. He swallowed convulsively. ‘It was the electric knife—’
Jack’s breath hissed through his clenched teeth and in a few strides he was at the chef’s side. The young man was glassily pale, blue around the lips and, worse, he was still gripping the electric knife that had obviously short-circuited and thrown him to the floor.
‘I used an insulator and switched off the current at the power point,’ Warren said helpfully. ‘What do you