Healing Her Brooding Island Hero Page 4

  ‘Proper coffee,’ she breathed. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s decaf.’

  He had to smile at that. ‘No chance. My coffee maker and coffee beans arrived on the island before my furniture. How do you have it?’

  ‘Strong. You can make it milky? Oh, my!’ She stood and watched with what almost looked like reverence as he made two mugs and carried them back out.

  She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t need to. She accepted the mug in both hands and held it to her lips, savouring the smell before she tasted, and the look on her face was a thank you all by itself.

  He watched in fascination as she took her first sip, as her face creased into what could only be called ecstasy. She closed her eyes and sighed, a long, drawn-out whisper of relief. ‘If you knew how much I’ve missed that...’

  ‘Since last night?’ he said, astounded. ‘You’ve only been here since yesterday. Are you so addicted?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said darkly. ‘And it hasn’t been since yesterday. We’re talking about months in quarantine, on the ship and on land. We’re talking deserted airports and government offices, and before that... Faceless people in full PPE giving me polystyrene cups of lukewarm stuff that doesn’t even taste like coffee. Leaving it at my door and sometimes not even knocking to tell me it’s there, me finding it when it’s stone cold.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He frowned. ‘Your aunt told me you’ve been on a cruise. So you had to quarantine?’

  ‘The whole ship had to quarantine. They took the passengers off, but the crew was stuck. Interminably.’

  He’d heard such stories. The recent pandemic had left many ships’ crews with no harbour prepared to take them. For some it had been a nightmare.

  For this woman?

  ‘You were crew?’ Her aunt had said she was on a cruise. She hadn’t said that she’d been working.

  What as? He glanced at those toes and thought she could have been anything. A hostess? A yoga teacher? Someone pandering to the idle rich?

  But without coffee. He had to suppress a shudder.

  ‘Yeah, I have your sympathy now,’ she said, and took another sip. ‘And now Babs only has herbal tea. I need to take a mercy trip into town to see if I can find a plunger and coffee.’

  She might be a muppet, but his nanny’s words were still embedded. ‘She can’t help it.’ Maybe he could afford to be nice.

  ‘I doubt if the store will stock them, but I have a plunger you can borrow,’ he told her. ‘It’s my emergency back-up in case of catastrophic power failure. I also have back-up beans—a lot. I can grind you some if you like.’

  ‘Really?’ She took another sip, and another, and then sighed with pleasure and drained the mug. Then she carefully set the mug on the bench by the door—and turned and hugged him.

  It was an all-enveloping hug, a complete, no-expense-spared embrace that hugged all of him. She was little, five foot four maybe, a good eight inches shorter than he was. To complete the hug she stood on her tiptoes. She wrapped her arms right around him, she held him against her and she just...hugged.

  He’d never had such a hug. Or maybe he had—surely he must have—but if he had, he’d forgotten.

  The warmth of her. The smell...something citrussy, fresh, nice. The way her breasts moulded against his chest, her head pressing into his shoulder, her hair brushing his chin.

  He froze. He had an almost overwhelming desire to hug back but he wasn’t stupid. This was entirely inappropriate. He should put her away. He should...

  He didn’t. He simply stood, frozen, and let himself be hugged.

  And she took her own sweet time about finishing. This wasn’t a hug to be cut short, and somehow he got the sense that she needed it, too.

  There was such a strong urge to hug back. He didn’t. He kept his head. Somehow.

  And finally it ended. She tugged away, and stood facing him, smiling a bit sheepishly. For some reason there was a tear tracking down her cheek. He had an urge to put out his hand and wipe it away...

  He didn’t. Someone had to be sensible.

  Why did it have to be him?

  ‘Sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I know, you didn’t want that, but you deserved it and I needed it. Babs told me you rescued her, you rescued me and now you’ve saved my sanity with coffee. Three rescues surely require a hug. And before you run screaming into the hills, I should tell you I’ve been tested and tested and tested before I’ve been allowed onto your pristine island, and if any bug escaped from me to you, mid-hug, then the only source is that stupid wombat. So there.’

  It was a defiant statement and it made him grin.

  ‘I’m not scared of bugs.’

  ‘No. You look like you’re scared of hugs though, so I’m sorry. I apologise for taking liberties and I won’t take them again. Please, give me my coffee and I’m out of here.’

  * * *

  He left her standing on the veranda while he ground her some coffee beans to take with her. Again, he thought he should ask her in, but he didn’t. Why should he? This place was his sanctuary, his place to escape the world. He did what he must to help the islanders—it seemed he had no choice—but his door was a boundary too far.

  This woman was a boundary too far. That hug...

  Why hadn’t he hugged back?

  What, hug an uncaring muppet with ballerinas painted on her toes? For the last few months he’d been watching Babs grow weaker. He’d known she was hanging out for her niece’s arrival, and he’d been growing angrier on her behalf. He knew how much properties on this side of the island were worth—who better? With pretty much private beaches, with scenery to die for, with solitude assured, these were hideaways of every realtor’s dreams. It had cost him a small fortune—and luck—to buy this place. When Babs died her beneficiary stood to inherit just such a fortune, yet she’d been left alone for far too long.

  ‘She’ll get here in her own good time,’ Babs had told him, and the taciturn lady had refused to say more. If she’d agreed to give him contact details he might have phoned the muppet and given her a serve, but she hadn’t so he couldn’t. It hadn’t stopped his anger building though.

  And now she’d arrived, and she had ballerinas painted on her toenails—and she’d hugged him. And she’d felt warm and soft and she’d smelled of something faint but wonderful. Her curls had brushed his chin and he’d wanted...

  He did not want. He told himself that fiercely as he tugged the spare coffee maker down from a top cupboard and started to grind coffee. It took time. He wished for the first time ever that he had pre-ground coffee to hand over, or a spare grinder, but he didn’t and he’d promised. So he ground on, all the time aware of her sitting on the steps just through the screen door. Hoppy had stayed with her, and she was fondling the little dog under his ears, speaking gently to him, and Hoppy was just about turning inside out with delight.

  Yeah, if she stroked him like that...

  Get a grip, he told himself. It had been way too long since he’d spent any time with a woman, but he wanted it that way. Women meant emotional entanglement, and that was pretty much the last thing he wanted, now and for ever.

  Finally, he headed out and placed the plunger and coffee into her basket without a word. She stared down at it and then beamed up at him, a wide, encompassing smile that said she had everything she wanted in this world, now and for ever.

  A man could drown in that smile.

  ‘I guess I’ll see you on the beach some time,’ she said, and turned to leave and he had a momentary urge to stop her. Easily contained.

  ‘I don’t go there much.’

  ‘That’s right, Babs said you keep to yourself.’ She hesitated. ‘But you didn’t keep to yourself the night she had her heart attack. I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Not grateful enough to come home. I can’t keep looking after her indefinitely.’

  ‘You won’t hav
e to,’ she retorted.

  ‘What, you’re hoping she’ll die soon?’

  There was a stunned pause. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and increasingly angry. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it with a snap. Thought about it for a moment longer and then spoke, tightly, her anger still obvious.

  ‘You saved my aunt. You saved my wombat and you’ve given me coffee. I guess the least I can do is shut up when you act like a judgemental—and ignorant—toerag. But, no, I won’t see you on the beach. I’ll make very sure that doesn’t happen. Enjoy your pie. Good luck with Hubert. Thank you.’ And she wheeled to walk away.

  And then his phone rang.

  A couple of times a week, about this time, his half-sister phoned, like it or not. She was ten years older than he was and he’d had little to do with her growing up, but, since he was injured, she’d decided to move back into his life again, even if it was just by phone. She’d ring after dinner, her time, chatting inconsequentially about her kids, her dogs, her husband, her life in New York. He’d tried to cut her off in the past, but it always backfired—she’d ring back and ring back. So now the calls were just part of his life. She’d finish her dinner, make herself coffee—was that a genetic need?—and ring her brother. He’d get on with his day, her chatter a blur in the background.

  She’d rung early this morning while he was tending the wombat—Hubert?—so his phone was still on speaker setting. Which meant the voice on the other end of the phone could be heard all over the yard.

  Which meant Gina could hear.

  And it wasn’t his sister.

  ‘Doc?’ The voice on the other end of the line was frantic. ‘Doc, we need help. Will you come?’ The fear on the other end of the line was unmistakeable.

  And there went his day. A wombat last night, his sister for almost an hour this morning and then Muppet. And now a medical emergency.

  He wanted isolation. He craved it. Life, people, activity, gave him the shakes. He should be well over it by now, but he wasn’t.

  The shrinks in the army hospital he’d found himself in had done their best, but one of them had been honest. ‘It might be something you just need to live with. Figure some way you can work around it. Give yourself time, Hugh. Be kind to yourself.’

  Being kind to himself didn’t include getting involved in other people’s lives, but there was terror emanating from the other end of the phone, and he had no choice but to respond. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s been an explosion out the back of the town. A big one. One of Henry Jefferson’s sheds. You know he stores all sorts of junk? There was a fire in the outer shed, the fireys were putting it out and wham. It’s gone up, all of it, one big bang. You should be able to see the smoke from your place.’

  He strode to the end of the veranda so he could look back across the island. Sure enough, there was a plume of black smoke rising in the direction of the town.

  ‘Casualties?’ he snapped.

  ‘We dunno where Jefferson is.’ The guy’s voice was shaky. ‘He might have been in the big shed; in which case he’s gone. There’re casualties among the fireys, though. We rang Gannet for help, but the chopper’s out on one of the outer islands. They’re rerouting the ferry but, mate, you’re all we have. Please come. Oh, strewth, I gotta go.’

  And the phone went dead.

  An explosion. Multiple casualties.

  His worst nightmare.

  He could feel the shakes build up inside, but this wasn’t the time for shakes.

  ‘You’re all we have.’

  He had gear in the truck. Not nearly enough, but, after that first episode with Mrs Henderson’s fall from the ladder, the doctors on Gannet had supplied him with a decent emergency kit. ‘We know you don’t want it,’ they’d told him. ‘And we swear we won’t call you unless it’s life or death, but can you keep it just in case?’

  He’d kept it. He’d kept his registration up. When all was said and done, he was still a doctor.

  He had no choice but to be a doctor now. Muppet was staring at him, looking concerned, but there was no time for the niceties of farewell. He scooped Hoppy up and put him inside, then headed for the truck at a run. Swung open the driver’s door. Gunned the engine into life.

  And then realised that Muppet was jumping in beside him.

  ‘Get out,’ he snapped. The last thing he needed was a useless onlooker.

  ‘I can help.’ She must have heard the conversation.

  ‘This is nasty. Get out!’

  ‘I’m a nurse,’ she told him, and he cast her an incredulous glance, his foot hovering on the accelerator.

  ‘A nurse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For heaven’s sake, what was this? ‘Your aunt says you’ve been swanning around the world on cruise ships for years. You think I want someone with no practical experience?’

  ‘I have practical experience. Shut up and get going.’

  ‘I’ll drop you at your aunt’s on the way.’

  ‘Don’t be dumb. Use me.’

  And maybe he could. If she’d done basic training, no matter how long ago, she might be able to assist in some small way. But he glanced again at her and said the first thing that came into his mind. ‘In those clothes?’

  ‘Good point. Stop for a minute,’ she snapped, and the sudden authority in her voice had him keeping his foot on the brake. ‘Wait!’

  And she was off at a run, up to the veranda to grab a pair of wellies he’d had sitting under the bench. Ten seconds later she was back. ‘Go,’ she said, and he hit the accelerator while she tugged on his oversized boots.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, even sounding approving. ‘Explosion means rubble and I’ll not add to your work. These’ll feel weird but they’ll let me move.’

  It was all he could do not to stare. The muppet label—the useless bimbo he’d labelled her—had suddenly transformed. She might still look the part of muppet, but her voice was that of a clipped professional.

  ‘Drive,’ she said, and he did.

  ‘Tell me what the set-up is,’ she demanded as they hit the road. ‘I missed a bit. Do you know how many casualties? How long before we can expect backup?’

  What the hell...? ‘What sort of nurse are you?’

  ‘A good one.’ The look she sent him was almost a glare.

  ‘When did you last nurse?’

  ‘Approximately two weeks ago.’ Her voice held more than an undercurrent of anger. ‘Did my aunt really say swanning?’

  ‘She said cruising,’ he admitted. Why did it suddenly seem as if he’d dug himself a hole and now he was digging it deeper?

  ‘I’ve been in charge of medical services on a purpose-built expedition boat,’ she told him, her voice still clipped with anger. ‘We sometimes take well-heeled passengers, but that’s to help funding for our research teams. Our ship’s chartered by world environmental groups, to take scientists back and forth to the Antarctic, or occasionally into other remote communities. Sometimes we have a doctor on board, but mostly we don’t. I’ve coped with everything from ingrown toenails to a guy who lost a leg in a winch accident. I managed to save him—as well as the guy with the ingrown toenail. I haven’t coped with an explosion before, but I have coped with a fire in the engine room, with multiple burns. And before you make any more disparaging remarks about me being a waste of space and not caring about my aunt, for the last four months I’ve been stuck at sea because of the pandemic. Along with crews from scores of other boats. I haven’t exactly been idle during those months, either, apart from the last two weeks in quarantine in Sydney. At one time I was the sole medic for five boats trapped in the one harbour. So can you accept that I might just possibly be of some help?’

  Whoa.

  He needed to concentrate on the road, rutted from recent rain. The last thing he needed was to get stuck, so he h
ad to pay attention. But what she’d said...

  For some reason he found himself focussing on the totally inane. ‘Your toes,’ he said stupidly, tangentially, and she stared at him for a long moment and then—to his astonishment—she chuckled.

  ‘Yeah. Toes. How many nurses’ toes have you seen in your lifetime, Dr Duncan? So are toes the litmus test on whether we make competent medics or not?’

  ‘I...’

  ‘When we were finally allowed to come home,’ said, quite calmly now, ‘they put us in quarantine in a hotel in Sydney. So I’ve had two weeks in one sparse hotel room, with half an hour supervised exercise a day. It’s a wonder I haven’t tattooed my whole body. Now can we get over my toes and move on? I believe I asked you... Casualties? Backup?’

  And finally, the personal was left behind. Finally, he managed a gear shift, and she was an experienced medic and so was he, and they were facing what could well be a disaster.

  Two medics. The weight of responsibility shifted a little.

  He wasn’t completely alone.

  Muppet might even be useful.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HENRY JEFFERSON HAD been a scrounger, a filthy-tempered wheeler dealer all his time on the island. Rumour had it he’d moved to Sandpiper because he’d done time in jail on the mainland. There’d been talk of drugs, and rumours that gangland figures had threatened him, but that was years ago. He’d settled on the island and surrounded himself with junk. Supposedly he hauled cars apart and sold parts and scrap. He also charged for collecting things like old sump oil and discarded tyres, organising for them to be taken off the island for legal disposal, but with this tiny population he couldn’t possibly be making a living that way.

  He’d been kicked out of Windswept Bay because the National Park authorities had discovered leakage into the pristine ground. He’d responded by moving to the site of an old whaling station, where his mess didn’t seem to worry anyone.