A Forever Family for the Army Doc
Author
Meredith Webber
Reads
18,3K
Chapters
12
Chapter One
IZZY PACED HERSELF on the run along the coastal path, which, right now, bordered a small sheltered beach. Ahead, the path rose high over headland cliffs, and further on it wound through coastal scrub. A truly beautiful part of the world—the place she loved, the place she belonged.
She’d been working nights, so this early-morning run was in the nature of a reward. A little treat before returning to her real world—making sure Nikki was ready for the start of the new term, catching up with her parents to get the latest family news, walking the dogs across the lush paddocks around the house—relaxing!
Nikki!
Her daughter would be thirteen next month—thirteen going on thirty—sensible, loving, doing well at school. So why was there always a little knot of worry tucked beneath Izzy’s sternum where Nikki was concerned?
Izzy stopped—well, jogged on the spot—peering down onto the beach where an unidentifiable lump of something lay just beyond the lapping water.
Too big to be a body, she told the lurch in her stomach, but best she check.
Scrambling down over lumpy rocks from the path to the sandy beach, she caught a glimpse of movement up ahead.
Someone else heading towards the unknown object?
Or someone leaving the—
No! It was definitely too big for a body; besides, the movement had now resolved into a person, tall, dark-haired—lots of dark hair—definitely heading for the lump.
Izzy was the first to reach what was now apparent as a beached mammal, and knelt beside it, speaking quietly, touching it gently—a baby whale? Surely it must be because dolphins were a different shape, sleeker, their faces pointed, beaked...
Although the sun was not yet high in the sky, the animal’s skin was hot. Izzy ripped off her T-shirt, dunked it in the waves and spread it over the animal’s back.
‘Good idea,’ a deep voice said. ‘I’ve a towel in my pack, I’ll get that.’
He’d turned and was gone before Izzy could get a good look at him, nothing but an impression of a very unkempt man with a lot of facial hair and plenty more in a tangled mess all over his head.
‘Bring something like a bottle or a cup if you’ve got one, and clean water, too.’
She yelled the order after him then returned to studying the animal, trying to remember things she’d learned when she and Nikki had visited Sea World some years ago.
Sea mammals usually stranded themselves on their side.
Tick!
This one certainly had.
The stranger returned.
‘Porpoise,’ he said in an authoritative voice.
‘You think? I thought maybe baby whale.’
A shout of laughter made her look up, and up, to the tousled-haired man standing above her.
‘Whale calves are three times the size of this fellow and weigh a ton or more.’
‘Know-it-all,’ Izzy muttered to herself, but as the man had dunked his towel in the water and was efficiently covering the animal she could hardly keep arguing with him.
And why was she arguing?
Did it matter?
‘I think the first thing is to get it onto its belly.’
Bit late now to tell him she’d already thought of that.
‘But the fresh water?’
Ha, something she knew that he didn’t!
Deep inside she wondered at the petty thoughts flashing through her head but hopefully he wouldn’t have noticed the momentary pause before she answered.
‘Just pour a little over each eye, like where he’d have an eyebrow, so it will run down. I seem to remember you need to keep the eyes moist but—’
‘The salt gets encrusted on them if you use sea water,’ he finished for her, smiling, so white teeth flashed in the mess of dark hair.
And something gave a tiny tug in the pit of Izzy’s stomach...
No! Not that! No way!
Carefully he poured water to a point above first one eye, then the other, allowing the water to run down over both eyes.
‘I’m Mac,’ he said, screwing the lid back on the bottle to preserve the rest of the water.
‘Izzy,’ Izzy replied, lifting her hand towards his so they shook above the body of what was apparently a porpoise. ‘We’ll have to roll him this way, towards the sea, to get him on his belly and I think if we dig a hole along this side, he might turn easily.’
‘You’ve done this before?’ Mac asked, joining Izzy on the seaward side of the animal, and digging into the sand.
‘Nope, but I once went to a lecture about beached mammals. Big ones you shouldn’t roll because you can break their ribs, and, oh, you should keep the tail and flippers and this fin on the back wet because they cool themselves through these thinner bits of their body.’
Mac, who’d brought a billycan as well as the bottle of water, began filling it and tipping it carefully onto the fins and tail while Izzy kept digging, focused on what she was doing so the tremor of—what? Awareness?—that tickled through her body when Mac settled beside her again, scraping sand away, almost passed unnoticed.
Almost!
What malign fate had brought him to this precise spot at this exact moment in time? Mac wondered as he knelt far too close to the half-naked woman and pulled sand away from the stranded animal.
A three-week trek down the coast path had been an opportunity to clear his head and prepare himself for the new job that lay ahead—literally ahead, for this particular section of the coastal path ended at Wetherby, not far from Wetherby District Hospital, currently awaiting its new director.
‘Director’ was a glorified title when the hospital, from what he’d learned, only boasted two doctors, with a private practice of four GPs in support—
‘I think he’s tilting this way.’
He glanced towards the speaker, who was completely oblivious to the effect she was having on his libido. She was kind of golden—like he imagined a sprite might be. She had golden skin, reddish-gold hair pulled ruthlessly back into a knot at the back of her head, but already escaping its confinement with damp little corkscrew curls flopping around her face. And golden eyes—well, probably brown, but with golden glints in them...
Better to think of the whole of her than individual bits, like the soft breasts, encased in a barely-there bikini top that brushed his arm as they dug—
He stood up, too aggravated by his wayward thoughts—not to mention the apparent return of his libido—to remain beside her.
‘I’ll lift the towel and shirt off it so we can replace them when it rolls,’ he said, and congratulated himself on sounding practical and efficient.
‘Good idea,’ the sprite said, stopping her digging and scraping for a moment to smile up at him.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, she had a dimple...
Fortunately for his sanity, the porpoise rolled into the hole they’d dug and now lay, snug on its belly, the rising tide sending wavelets splashing onto it.
The sprite had leapt away just in time, but she’d caught the full brunt of the splash, so water and sand were now splattered across her skin as she danced up and down in delight, clapping her hands and telling the uncaring animal how clever he was.
‘Why do you assume it’s a male?’ Mac demanded, his reaction to the sight of her capering happiness making the words come out grouchier than he’d intended.
Golden eyes lifted to his.
‘Honestly,’ she said, a smile barely hidden on her lips, ‘do you think a girl porpoise would be stupid enough to get into a fix like this?’
‘Hmmph!’
He couldn’t recall ever making a ‘hmmph’ noise before but that was definitely how it came out, but it was time to be practical, not argue over male versus female in the stupidity stakes. He’d certainly been the stupid one in his marriage, assuming it had meant things like love and fidelity on both sides...
Annoyed by the thought, he concentrated on the porpoise.
‘What do we do next?’
Izzy studied the still stranded animal. At least it was right way up now, but was she keeping her eyes on it, so she didn’t have to look at the man—Mac?
She’d been so delighted when their plan had worked, she’d looked up at him to share the success—straight into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Right there, deep in the tangled mess of dark hair, was a pair of truly breathtaking blue eyes. She was pretty sure her heart hadn’t stood still, even for an instant, but it sure had seemed like it...
Think about the porpoise!
‘Maybe if we dig a trench, kind of extending our hole towards the sea, he might be able to slide forward as the tide rises.’
‘Or perhaps we should get help,’ the man with the blue eyes said, giving the impression he was done with the animal rescue business.
Or maybe he was just being practical.
‘We’re three kilometres from town and I don’t have a phone—do you?’
He looked put out as he shook his head, as if admitting he didn’t have a phone was some kind of weakness, but who in their right mind would want to carry a phone on a wilderness walk? There were small fishing and holiday villages along the route and anyone walking it was obliged to report each day’s destination so a search could be mounted if the walker didn’t turn up. And at this time of the year there’d be other people on the path—
She looked up towards it—hopefully...
No people right now.
‘So, it’s up to us,’ she said, hoping he’d stay so there’d be an ‘us’. ‘I don’t suppose you’re carrying a sleeping bag?’
‘A sleeping bag?’
He seemed confused so she added quickly, ‘Thing you sleep in—the nights have been cool, I thought you might—’
‘I do know what a sleeping bag is,’ he growled, ‘I just can’t see why you’re asking.’
Grouchy, huh?
‘For a sling,’ she explained, although the bemusement on his face suggested he still wasn’t with her. ‘Can you get it?’ she asked, very politely, and smiling as she spoke because she needed this man’s help and didn’t want to upset him any more than she already had.
‘We’ll try to slip it under him,’ she explained. ‘We probably should have done it before he rolled but it’s too late now, so we’ll just have to build a little pool for him. I don’t think we could lift him with the sleeping bag, but once the water rises and takes some of the weight, we’ll be able to guide him into deeper water.’
‘You want me to put my sleeping bag into the water for this animal?’
The disbelief in his voice stopped all thoughts of politeness.
‘Oh, stop complaining and go get it. This part of the track ends at Wetherby. I’ll buy you a new sleeping bag there.’
He didn’t move for a moment, simply looking at her and shaking his head, as if she, not the stranded porpoise, was the problem.
Muttering something under his breath—something that could have been about bossy women—he turned and strode away, long, strong legs eating up the distance back to the track.
Izzy realised she was staring after him, shook her head in turn, and returned to digging with renewed determination.
Better by far than thinking of the blue eyes or strong legs or the fact that the rest of him, now his T-shirt was wet and clung to a very well-developed chest, wasn’t too bad either.
Aware that he was behaving like a loutish imbecile, Mac returned to his already diminished pack and pulled out his sleeping bag, unrolling and unzipping it so it was ready when he reached the water.
Her idea was a good one—he should have thought of it himself.
Was he annoyed because he hadn’t?
Or because of his inexplicable awareness of the woman who had?
Wasn’t he done with that kind of attraction?
Not with women in general—he had several good women friends, some of whom, from time to time, he had taken to bed.
Until that had become awkward—more than physical attraction creeping in—though not on his side.
And the one thing he’d learned from his marriage was that physical attraction was dangerous. It messed with a man’s head, leading him to make rash decisions.
And wasn’t his head holding enough mess already? The Iraq posting, then finding out about his wife and her physical attractions...
Ex-wife!
He shook his head to free it of the past and studied the animal as he approached, determined to take control of this situation.
Wasn’t that what ED specialists did?
‘I’m deepening the hole—not easy because the sand just washes back in with the next wave but I think if we persist we can do it,’ the woman, Izzy, said. ‘Do you mind wetting his eyes again?’
So much for taking charge!
But as the tide rose and the water in their porpoise paddling pool grew deeper, he forgot about messy heads and wars and women, determined now to get this creature back into the deeper water where it belonged. He dug until his arms ached, pushing the sleeping bag beneath the heavy body, reaching for Izzy’s fingers, grasping towards his from the other side.
By the time the water in the hole was knee deep they had their sleeping bag sling in place, each holding one side, lifting as the waves came in and easing the docile creature inch by inch into deeper water.
‘Look, he’s floating now,’ Izzy said, and Mac was surprised to realise the weight had gone from their sling.
‘You’re right,’ he said, feeling a surge of relief for the animal. ‘But just keep the bag underneath him. We need to roll him back and forth so he gets the feel of his body moving in the water. Well, I think that’s the idea. I just know when you catch, tag, and release a big fish, you have to ease it back and forth in the water until it swims away.’
He pushed at the huge body and Izzy pushed back, the pair of them moving into deeper and deeper water until, with a splash of his tail, the rescued animal took off, diving beneath the surface and appearing, after an anxious few minutes, further out to sea.
‘He’s gone! We did it—we did it!’ Izzy yelled, leaping towards Mac and hugging him so the sloppy, wet sleeping bag she was still holding wrapped around him like a straitjacket and he sank beneath the waves.
But once untangled and in shallower water, he returned the hug, the success of their endeavour breaking the reserve of strangers.
He was beginning to enjoy the armful of woman and wet sleeping bag when Izzy eased away, hauling the sleeping bag out of the water and attempting to fold it.
‘I don’t usually hug str—’ she began, then frowned as if something far more important had entered her head.
‘Oh, I do hope he doesn’t come back,’ she said anxiously. ‘I hope the rest of the pod are somewhere out there looking for him and he can find them. Do you know that when a whole pod is beached, and rescued, they try to let them all go at once so they can look after each other?’
Well, that got us over the awkwardness of the ‘stranger hug’.
He’d have liked to reply, Not our problem, but now she’d mentioned it, he did feel a little anxious that the porpoise—their porpoise—would be all right.
Nonsense—he wasn’t even certain porpoises swam in pods, and probably neither was she. The job was done and he needed to resume his walk—without his sleeping bag and without drinking water.
Alone?
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to walk with me as far as Wetherby, or as far along the track as you’re going?’
She looked up at him and he noticed surprise in the gold-flecked eyes.
Noticed it because he’d felt it himself, even as he’d asked the question. Wasn’t he off women?
Taking a sabbatical from all the emotional demands of a male-female relationship?
Not that it mattered because she was already dismissing the idea.
‘Oh, no,’ she was saying—far too quickly, really. ‘I have to run. I’m just off nights and I’ve got to check my daughter’s ready for school on Monday and my sister’s up from Sydney for the weekend, and I think my brother might be in town—’
‘Okay, okay!’ he said, holding up his hands in surrender, then he smiled at the embarrassment in her face, and added, ‘Although in future you might like to remember something my mother once told me. Never give more than one excuse. More than one and it sounds as if you’re making them up on the spot.’
‘I was not! It’s all true.’
Indignation coloured her cheeks and she turned to go, before swinging back to face him.
‘There’s a fresh water tap just a few hundred metres along the track; you can refill your bottle there.’
After which she really did go, practically sprinting away from him along the track—
For about twenty paces.
‘Oh, the sleeping bag,’ she said, pointing to the wet, red lump on the beach. ‘You can’t carry it wet, so hang it on a tree. I’ll be back this way in a day or two and collect it so it’s not littering the track, and if you tell me where you’ll be staying I’ll get you a new one.’
Izzy was only too aware that most of her parting conversation with the stranger had been a blather of words that barely made sense, but she did need to get back, or at least away from this stranger so she could sort out just what it was about him that disturbed her.
Had to be more than blue eyes and a hunky body—had to be!
‘I won’t be needing the sleeping bag.’
The shouted words were cool, uninterested, so she muttered a heartfelt, ‘Good,’ and turned away again, breaking stride only to yell belated thanks over her shoulder. Duty done, she took off again at a fast jog, hoping she looked efficient and professional, instead of desperate to get away.
By the time she slowed to cool down before reaching the car park, she’d decided that the silly connection she’d felt towards the man had been nothing more than the combined effects of night duty and gratitude that there had been someone to help her with the porpoise.
Which, hopefully, would not re-beach himself the moment they were out of sight!
* * *
Mac resumed his walk with a lighter pack.
But vague dissatisfaction disturbed the pleasure he’d been experiencing for the past three weeks. Maybe because his solitude had been broken by his interaction with the woman, and it had been the solitude he’d prized most. It was something that had been hard to come by in the army, even when his regiment had returned from overseas missions and he’d been working in the barracks.
Strange that it had been the togetherness of army life, the company of other wives and somewhat forced camaraderie, that had appealed to Lauren—right up to his first posting overseas.
‘But you’re a doctor, not a soldier,’ she’d protested, although she’d seen other medical friends sent abroad. ‘What will happen to me if you die?’
He could probably have handled it better than promising not to die, which he didn’t on his first mission. But by the second time he was posted to Afghanistan she’d stopped believing—stopped believing in him, and in their marriage—stopped believing in love, she told him later, while explaining that the excitement of an affair gave her a far bigger thrill than marriage could ever provide.
On top of the disaster that had been his second deployment, this news had simply numbed him, somehow removing personal emotion from his life. He knew this didn’t show, and he had continued to be a competent—probably more than competent—caring doctor, a cheerful companion in the officers’ mess and a dutiful son to both his parents and whichever spouses they happened to have in their lives at the time.
He’d always been reasonably sure that his parents’ divorce, when he was seven, hadn’t particularly affected him. He’d seen both regularly, lived with both at various times, got on well with his half-siblings, and had even helped them, at different times, when their particular set of parents had divorced. Walking the coastal path, he’d had time to reflect and had realised that perhaps it had been back then that he’d learned to shut his emotions away—tuck them into something like a memory box and get on with his life.
Had this shut him away, prevented him from seeing and understanding what had probably been Lauren’s very real fear that first time he’d been sent abroad?
She’d contacted him, Lauren, when she’d heard he was back this time—an email to which he hadn’t replied.
He’d wondered if the thrills she’d spoken of had palled, but found he didn’t want to know—definitely didn’t want to find out. In fact, their brief courtship and three-year marriage seemed more like some fiction he’d read long ago than actual reality.
A dream—or maybe a nightmare...
Not wanting his thoughts to slide back into the past where there were memories far worse than that particular nightmare, he shut the lid on his memory box and turned his thoughts to what lay ahead.
Inevitably, to the golden girl—woman—who’d popped into his life like a genie from a bottle, then jogged right back out again.
She must live in Wetherby, he realised, but the seaside town and surrounding area had a population of close to ten thousand, probably double that in holiday time.
It was hardly likely they’d run into each other...
And he’d be far too busy getting used to his new position, getting to know his colleagues and learning his way around the hospital and town to be dallying with some golden sprite.
Besides which, she had a child to get ready for school so was probably married, although he had checked and she didn’t wear a ring.
Not that people did these days, not all the time, and there were plenty of couples who never married, and women, and men, too, he supposed, who had a child but weren’t necessarily in a relationship.
But she had a child, and even if she wasn’t partnered, he was reasonably certain that women with children would—and should—be looking for commitment, for security, in a relationship.
Not that he did relationships.
He was more into dallying, and since he’d been a single man again, the only dalliances he’d had were with women who felt as he did, women who were happy with a mutually enjoyable affair without any expectation of commitment on either side.
The path had wound its way to the top of a small rise and he halted, more to stop his rambling, idiotic thoughts than to look at the view.
But the view was worth looking at, the restless ocean stretching out to the horizon, blue and green in places, fringed with white where the surf curled before rolling up the beach.
Off the next headland he could see surfers sitting on their boards, waiting for the next good wave, and beyond that what must be the outskirts of the town.
Wetherby!
