Miracle: Twin Babies. Fiona Lowe
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the locals are very proud of.’
A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘That’s one of my conditions.’
Laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘Are you going to fight me for first dibs on working with the kids?’ A nurturing warmth filled her, tinged with regret. ‘But I know what you mean, the cottage was a big drawcard for me to come to Port.’
His mouth firmed into an uncompromising line. ‘There’ll be no fight. I don’t want to work at the camp so you can happily keep all that work for yourself.’
She blinked, completely startled. ‘But the camp is so much fun. Why on earth don’t you want to work there?’
The waxy cardboard unravelled in his hands, pulled apart by rigid fingers. ‘I said I’d help you but there’d be conditions. This is one of them.’
His usually mellow voice was suddenly brusque and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the ‘doctor in charge’, the doctor used to issuing orders and being instantly obeyed without question. It caught her by surprise and a jolt of anger speared her. She tilted her chin—she wasn’t a green first-year resident. ‘What do you have against working with children?’
A streak of something she couldn’t really define flared in his eyes for the briefest moment, before being cloaked by a spark of irritation. ‘I didn’t say I had anything against working with children, I’m just exerting my right not to.’
His arrogance astounded her. ‘I suppose you had a paediatric registrar to save you from such work.’
‘That’s right.’
The blunt words hit her, their uncompromising tone harsh and decisive. ‘Well, there’s no paediatric registrar in Port so what about children who come into the clinic?’
His mouth flattened into an obdurate line. ‘On the unlikely chance you’re not available, I’ll see them.’
‘Well, that’s reassuring.’ The sarcastic words leapt off her lips as a fizz of frustration spread through her. ‘Do you have any other demographic groups you refuse to work with? Any other conditions I should know about before we start?’
His eyebrows rose in a perfect arch at her mockery, but when he spoke his tone was all steely business. ‘This is how I see it working. Each weekday morning I’ll meet you at seven a.m. for the nursing-home ward round and I’ll work half-day clinics Monday to Friday with lunchtime case-review sessions as part of your supervision. I’ll be unavailable on Saturdays because I’ll be at the market.’ He extended his arm toward her, every part of him vibrating with tension. ‘Deal or no deal?’
She recognised the adversarial glint in his eyes as a thousand questions hammered in her head and poured into her mouth, demanding instant answers. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t work at the camp. Why he would prefer not to see the children at the clinic—none of it made sense, but she swallowed hard against every single question, forcing them down deep. If she quizzed him too closely on why he wouldn’t work at KC he would walk, and she couldn’t risk that. He had her well and truly cornered and she had no choice.
Slowly, she stretched out her right hand and slid her smaller palm against his. Work-hardened calluses scraped gently over her softer skin in a tantalising caress as his fingers wrapped around her hand. His heat poured through her, racing along her arm, radiating into her chest, tightening her breasts and then burrowing down deep inside until every part of her had liquefied with desire. Yet a dangerous vixen-voice betrayed her, demanding even more.
No, no, I’m not doing this. I am immune to men. But her body disagreed. His touch was unlike any handshake she’d ever known and she breathed in sharply, trying to grasp control of her wayward and wanton body which longed to drape itself over the chair and purr with pleasure. She finally found her own voice and hoped it sounded firm and businesslike. ‘Deal.’
A smile roved across his face, creating twinkling dimples in his cheeks, sparking emerald lights in his eyes and completely eliminating all signs of his previous tension. ‘Deal it is, then.’
‘Wonderful.’ The word came out horrifyingly breathy, the vixen having gained control. Suddenly the deal that would keep her in Port, well away from Anthony and her shattered dreams, was no longer the ‘get-out-of-jail-free card’ that she’d expected.
‘But, Doctor, are you sure you’ve seen enough?’ Mrs Norton’s rheumy blue eyes sparkled as arthritic fingers fumbled over the pearl buttons on her crocheted bedjacket.
‘Let me help you with that.’ Nick smiled as he quickly buttoned the jacket on the elderly woman who would have been a stunning beauty in her younger days. ‘If you can flirt with me, Mrs N. then you’re doing just fine, but I have adjusted the diuretic so that should make breathing a little easier.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She touched his hand as he finished latching the last button. ‘And when will you be in to see me next, dear?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘I’ll be ready.’ She gave him a wave as he left the room.
Mrs Norton was the last nursing-home patient on his morning round’s list and over the last hour he’d met all the residents. Every female patient had held his hand and flirted with him as well as showing him pictures of their granddaughters and great-granddaughters. ‘She’s a wonderful cook, Doctor, and you could do with some fattening up.’ The male patients had gruffly given him fishing tips, shaken their heads at his choice of football team and told him the ‘sure-fire’ solution to aphids—‘garlic and soapy water, Doc.’
After working in emergency medicine for years, he’d expected to find a nursing-home round slow and boring work. He didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t worked in almost two years and today he was just enjoying being back in the field, but he’d been surprised at how much fun he’d had chatting with them all. The moment he got home he was going to make up that aphid-fighting mixture and use it on his tomatoes this afternoon.
He glanced at his phone and read a text from Kirby asking him to meet her at the clinic. She hadn’t made it to rounds, having been called out at six a.m. to Kids’ Cottage.
He’d had no idea the town had a kids’ holiday camp dating back a hundred years. When he’d initially said he would have conditions attached to working here, he’d been thinking about how he would juggle the farm with practising medicine and still have precious time for himself. He hadn’t realised he would need to use the ‘conditions’ banner for anything else, but no way was he going to be the medico for a kids’ camp.
He shuddered as the memory of his father’s voice suddenly sounded in his head. You have to go, mate. You’ll enjoy it if you give it a chance.
He’d hated the enforced time he’d spent at camps as a kid and he sure as hell wasn’t spending time there as an adult. This time he had a choice and he was choosing to say no.
Suddenly the vision of Kirby’s wide blue eyes aimed squarely at him and full of disapproval shoved his father’s voice out of his head. Damn it, he was the experienced doctor and he had the right to say where he would work without giving a full-on explanation. He was so not revisiting his childhood, especially not with a woman whose eyes threatened to see down to his soul.
Better that she thought him a jerk than to go there.
Yeah, right. You go ahead and think that if it makes you feel better.
He ran his hand across his hair, short spikes meeting his palm, and he grunted in frustration. Hell, he didn’t even have to be working in Port! This time here was supposed to be all about wellness and focussing on himself. He was the one doing her the favour.
Shaking his head to clear it of unwanted images, errant thoughts and the eminently reasonable voice of his father, he strode toward the clinic, which was attached to the small emergency department of Port Bathurst Bush Nursing Hospital. Pushing open the door, which was