Waking Up With His Runaway Bride. Louisa George
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of the review, hopefully some cash. Getting her practice to its full potential. Connor leaving.
He waved gloved hands towards her. ‘Mim? Pass that gauze, will you? Just closing up. Tommo here’s had a tetanus and we’re starting antibiotics as a precaution. I was just telling him, gravel wounds are a haven for bacteria.’ He nodded at his patient. ‘Finish the whole course of tablets, okay?’
‘Yes, Doc.’ Tommo grinned. ‘And keep off the grog too, eh?’
‘Just cut down, mate. A couple of stubbies a night, that’s all. That liver’s got to last you a lifetime.’ He smiled as Tommo headed out the door. ‘And don’t forget about that well-man appointment. You won’t regret it.’
‘Sure. Cheers, Doc.’
To her irritation, Mim couldn’t fault Connor’s bedside manner, suturing skills or efficiency. He was assertive, professional and fast. But as Tommo left she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity. ‘Well-man Clinic? Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get one up and running for a while. No one came.’
‘Here? Wrong venue. Try the pub.’
‘I’ve put adverts up in there. But you can’t do a clinic in the pub.’
‘It worked fine in the some of the low-decile areas out West. We took mini-health checks out to some bars. But now we’ve educated the clients to go to the clinics, where there are better facilities. Still, a pub is a good starting place.’ Connor whipped off his gloves and threw them into the bin. Direct hit. Of course. He was precise and perfect and professional. And poles away from the reality of rural medicine.
‘You don’t know these people. There’s not a metrosexual among them. We’re lucky if we get a blast of deodorant, and no one uses hair gel.’ She tried to keep the knowing smile out of her voice as she surveyed Connor’s carefully dishevelled hair. It must have taken hours to perfect that morning. It looked good enough to run her fingers through.
Check that. No finger running. ‘Anything else is considered just plain girly. They’re stoic blokes and think being sick is a weakness.’
‘What about just before a game? Tried a clinic then?’
‘On a Saturday night?’ Okay, he had a point. The pub was always heaving at that time. But she wasn’t going to admit that. ‘Preventive medicine like that is a pipe dream. I tell you, the only way to get these men to see a doctor is if their head’s falling off or their heart’s given out.’ Remembering the four that had just pitched up to her surgery, she smiled, smugly. Case in point. ‘Or if there’s a drama. By the way, what happened to Boy? Have you finished with him already?’
‘Yep, but X-ray facilities would help.’
‘I agree. But two years ago there wasn’t even a clinic here, until I set this one up. Facilities take funding when you live in the real world.’ He never had—and that had been part of their problem. He still didn’t get it. She sighed. ‘Get your daddy to wave his magic wand. While he’s at it I’d like an MRI scanner, a decent coffee shop and lots and lots of shoes. In the meantime, we’ll make do with what we’ve got. Anything that needs more investigation goes into the city.’
‘An hour and a half’s drive away. No fun if you’re in pain.’ He shrugged, obviously choosing to ignore her barbed comment. Again. She bristled at his self-control. Maybe he wasn’t as riled by her as he used to be. That was good. Wasn’t it? She didn’t want to have any effect on him at all. Except a positive impression for the fund assessment. Really. Honestly. Then she could move on with her life, without giving a backward glance to Connor Wiseman.
‘Luckily for Boy, his finger wasn’t broken. I’m pretty sure it’s just a bad sprain so I’ve buddy-strapped it. Told him to come back in a couple of days so we can double-check.’ Having replenished the dressing trolley, Connor cracked his knuckles as he stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘Man, that felt good. It’s been a while since I did hands-on.’
‘I let you loose on my patients when you’re out of practice?’ She glowered at him. Had she allowed him to bulldoze her into something she had doubts about again? One word from him and she was almost rolling over, asking him to scruff her tummy. When would she learn? She would not let him badger her into anything any more. ‘Please tell me you have a valid practising certificate.’
‘Of course. Simmer down.’ He laughed. ‘And I thought we’d agreed to be civil. Don’t worry, I do a few hours consulting a month to keep my hand in.’
‘But why bother do all those years at med school just for a few hours a month? The internships? The GP training? What a waste.’
‘Why? I know my way around a clinic. I’ve lived and breathed medical practice.’ For the first time since his arrival he looked uncomfortable. His lips formed a tight line and a frown sat edgily over his eyes. ‘But systems management is important too. Someone needs to make sure everyone’s reached a certain standard.’
He closed his eyes briefly and Mim noticed his fist clenched against the desk. He looked like he was trying to gain control. And unbelievably sad.
‘Connor?’ Her heart stammered as she bit her lip. ‘Are you okay?’
When he opened his eyes again they resonated a steel calm. Devoid of any kind of emotion. ‘You have your demons, Mim, I have mine. And we’re both trying to work the system to fit them.’
Demons? His sister perhaps. Who knew? No point in asking. Clamming up was Connor’s forte. She’d never managed to break through that hard exterior before.
But they needed to get on to move on. She touched his fingers in a meek attempt at a handshake. ‘So how about we start over? Let’s go for civil. Who knows? We might even like it.’
Connor inhaled sharply. Mim had always been right about one thing: moving forward was the only way to go. He couldn’t change what had happened to Janey. Or that Mim had thrashed his heart. He just had to make sure that nothing like either tragedy ever happened again.
She looked up at him through thick lashes, held his gaze, her lips parted slightly. Her pale complexion was punctuated with two red circles of anger, the passion for her work flaring deeply in dark irises. Her belief and pride in her good intentions was clear in the way she held that pert body erect and taut.
As if answering her clarion call, his blood stirred in a sudden wild frenzy.
He let her hand drop and forced himself to remember all the reasons their affair had failed before. Passion and lust had never been a problem. But their clash of backgrounds and vision of their futures had pulled them in opposing directions. Walking away had been her chosen option. Three years had made no difference to her naive idealism. But this time he could do the walking.
Connor eased out the irritation rippling through his shoulders. He’d work this on his terms. Keep a professional distance.
‘Okay. Let’s start again. Hi. I’m Dr Connor Wiseman, here to assess your practice.’
‘How-de-do, Dr Wiseman. I’m Mim. Welcome to beautiful Atanga Bay, where we have sunshine and smiles in abundance. Oh, and the odd bush fire … but only once in a blue moon.’ The corner of her lips tweaked upwards as she folded her arms over her tiny frame. She was extremes and opposites. Combative and defensive. And yet he knew she enjoyed a good spat as much as he did. No one had ever riled him so much, hit the spot every time. And got a rise out of him. Figuratively and, very often, literally. Their fights had been legendary, but their make-up sex had been stellar.
He sneaked another glance down her body. She was thinner, sure, but there were still curves there, hidden under her shapeless jumper. She was every bit the woman he remembered. And then some.
And he had to endure being with her for the next three months. More if he kept being delayed by fires and regular cat fights. But he refused to be baited by her. Had to remain controlled and calm. And focused. ‘So, give me a clue. How to write notes in a computer that refuses to start?’