Unlocking Her Surgeon's Heart

His shoulders, already square, vibrated with tension and his brown eyes flashed with flecks of gold. ‘Believe me, Ms Cartwright,’ he said coldly, ‘if I had things my way, I wouldn’t be seen dead working here, but the powers that be have other plans. Neither of us has a choice.’

His antagonism slammed into her like storm waves pounding against the pier. She acknowledged that she deserved some of his hostility because her heartfelt, shock-driven ‘No’ had been impolite and unwelcoming. It had unwittingly put in her a position she avoided—that of making men angry. When it came to men in general she worked hard at going through life very much under their radar. The less she was noticed the better, and she certainly didn’t actively set out to make them angry.

She sucked in a breath. ‘I’m just surprised the Melbourne Victoria’s sent a surgeon to us, but, as you so succinctly pointed out, neither of us has a choice.’ She forced herself to smile, but it felt tight around the edges. ‘Welcome to Turraburra, Dr Jackson.’

He gave a half grunting, half huffing sound and swung his critical gaze back to Chippy. ‘Get the dog out of here. It doesn’t belong in a medical clinic.’

All her guilt about her own rudeness vanished and along with it her usual protective guard. ‘Chippy is the clinic’s therapy dog. He stays.’

Noah stared at the tall, willowy woman in front of him whose fingers had a death grip on a set of bright pink folders. Her pale cheeks had two bright spots of colour on them that matched her files and her sky-blue eyes sparked with the silver flash of a fencing foil. He was still smarting from her definite and decisive ‘No’. He might not want to work in this godforsaken place but who was she to judge him before he’d even started? ‘What the hell is a therapy dog?’

‘He provides some normalcy in the clinic,’ she said, her tone clipped.

‘Normalcy?’ He gave a harsh laugh, remembering his mother’s struggle to maintain any semblance of a normal life after her diagnosis. Remembering all the hours they’d spent in numerous medical practices’ waiting rooms, not dissimilar to this one, seeking a cure that had never come. ‘This is a medical clinic. It exists for sick people so there’s nothing normal about it. And talking about normal, that dog looks far from it.’

She pursed her lips and he noticed how they peaked in a very kissable bow before flushing a deep and enticing red. Usually, seeing something sexy like that on a woman was enough for him to turn on the charm but no way in hell was he was doing that with this prickly woman with the fault-finding gaze.

‘Chippy’s a greyhound,’ she snapped. ‘They’re supposed to be svelte animals.’

‘Is that what you call it?’ His laugh came out in a snort. ‘It looks anorexic to me and what’s with the collar? Is he descended from the tsars?’

He knew he was being obnoxious but there was something about Lilia Cartwright and her holier-than-thou tone that brought out the worst in him. Or was it the fact he’d spent the night sleeping on the world’s most uncomfortable bed and when he’d finally fallen asleep the harsh and incessant screeching of sulphur-crested cockatoos at dawn had woken him. God, he hated the country.

‘Have you quite finished?’ she said, her voice so cool he expected icicles to form on her ash-blonde hair. ‘Chippy calms agitated patients and the elderly at the nursing home adore him. Some of them don’t have anyone in their lives they can lavish affection on and Chippy is more than happy to be the recipient of that love. Medical studies have shown that a companion pet lowers blood pressure and eases emotional distress. Like I said, he absolutely stays.’

An irrational urge filled him to kick something and to kick it hard. He had the craziest feeling he was back in kindergarten and being timed out on the mat for bad behaviour. ‘If there’s even one complaint or one flea bite, the mutt goes.’

Her brows rose in a perfect arc of condescension. ‘In relative terms, Dr Jackson, you’re here for a blink of an eye. Chippy will far outstay you.’

The blink of an eye? Who was she kidding? ‘I’m here for seven hundred and twenty very long hours.’

Her blue eyes rounded. ‘You actually counted them?’

He shrugged. ‘It seemed appropriate at three a.m. when the hiss of fighting possums wearing bovver boots on my roof kept me awake.’

She laughed and unexpected dimples appeared in her cheeks. For a brief moment he glimpsed what she might look like if she ever relaxed. It tempted him to join her in laughter but then her tension-filled aura slammed back in place, shutting out any attempts at a connection.

He crossed his arms. ‘It wasn’t funny.’

‘I happen to know you could just have easily been kept awake by fighting possums in the leafy suburbs of Melbourne.’

Were they comrades-in-arms? Both victims of the vagaries of the Melbourne Victoria Hospital that had insisted on sending them to the back of beyond? A bubble of conciliation rose to the top of his dislike for her. ‘So you’ve been forced down here too?’

She shook her head so quickly that her thick and tight French braid swung across her shoulder. ‘Turraburra is my home. Melbourne was just a grimy pitstop I was forced to endure when I studied midwifery.’

He thought about his sun-filled apartment in leafy Kew, overlooking Yarra Bend Park. ‘My Melbourne’s not grimy.’

Again, one brow quirked up in disapproval. ‘My Turraburra’s not a poor excuse for a town.’

‘Well, at least we agree on our disagreement.’

‘Do you plan to be grumpy for the entire time you’re here?’

Her directness both annoyed and amused him. ‘Pretty much.’

One corner of her mouth twitched. ‘I guess forewarned is forearmed.’ She turned to go and then spun back. ‘Oh, and a word to the wise, that is, of course, if you’re capable of taking advice on board. I suggest you do things Karen’s way. She’s run this clinic for fifteen years and outstayed a myriad of medical staff.’

He bit off an acidic retort. He hadn’t even met a patient yet but if this last fifteen minutes with Ms Lilia Cartwright, Midwife, was anything to go by, it was going to be a hellishly long and difficult seven hundred and nineteen hours and forty-five minutes in Turraburra.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’M HOME!’ LILY CALLED loudly over the blare of the TV so her grandfather had a chance of hearing her.

A thin arm shot up above the top of the couch and waved at her. ‘Marshmallow and I are watching re-runs of the doctor. Makes me realise you don’t see many phone boxes around any more, do you?’

Lily kissed him affectionately on the top of his head and stroked the sleeping cat as Chippy settled across her grandfather’s feet. ‘Until the mobile phone reception improves, I think Turraburra’s phone box is safe.’

‘I just hope I’m still alive by the time the national broadband scheme’s rolled out. The internet was so dodgy today it took me three goes before I could check my footy tipping site.’

‘A definite tragedy,’ she said wryly. Her grandfather loved all sports but at this time of year, with only a few games before the Australian Rules football finals started, he took it all very seriously. ‘Did you get down to the community centre today?’

He grunted.

‘Gramps?’ A ripple of anxiety wove through her that he might have driven to the centre.

Just recently, due to some episodes of numbness in his feet, she’d reluctantly told him it wasn’t safe for him to drive. Given how independent he was, he’d been seriously unhappy with that proclamation. It had taken quite some time to convince him but he’d finally seemed to come round and together they’d chosen a mobility scooter. Even at eighty-five, he’d insisted on getting a red one because everyone knew red went faster.

It was perfect for getting around Turraburra and, as she’d pointed out to him, he didn’t drive out of town much anyway. But despite all the logic behind the decision, the ‘gopher’, as he called it, had stayed in the garage. Lily was waiting for him to get sick of walking everywhere and start using it.

‘I took the gopher,’ he said grumpily. ‘Happy?’

‘I’m happy you went to your class at the centre.’

‘Well, I couldn’t let Muriel loose on the computer. She’d muck up all the settings and, besides, it was my day to teach the oldies how to edit photos.’

She pressed her lips together so she didn’t laugh, knowing from experience it didn’t go down well. He might be in his eighties but his mind was as sharp as a tack and he was young at heart, even if his body was starting to fail him. She ached when she thought of how much he hated that. Losing the car had been a bitter blow.

The ‘oldies’ he referred to were a group of frail elderly folk from the retirement home. Many were younger than him and made him look positively spry. He was interested in anything and everything and involved in the life of the town. He loved keeping abreast of all the latest technology, loved his top-of-the-range digital camera and he kept busy every day. His passion and enthusiasm for life often made her feel that hers was pale and listless in comparison.

He was her family and she loved him dearly. She owed him more than she could ever repay.

‘Muriel sent over a casserole for dinner,’ he said, rising to his feet.

‘That was kind of her.’ Muriel and Gramps had a very close friendship and got along very well as long as she didn’t touch his computer and he didn’t try to organise her pantry into some semblance of order.

He walked towards the kitchen. ‘She heard about the Hawker and De’Bortolli babies and knew you’d be tired. No new arrivals today?’

Lily thought about the tall, dark, ill-tempered surgical registrar who’d strode into her work world earlier in the day.

You forgot good looking.

No. Handsome belongs to someone who smiles.

Really? Trent smiled a lot and look how well that turned out.

She pulled her mind back fast from that thought because the key to her mental health was to never think about Trent. Ever. ‘A new doctor’s arrived in town.’

His rheumy, pale blue eyes lit up. ‘Male or female?’

‘Sorry, Gramps. I know how you like to flirt with the female doctors but this one’s a difficult bloke.’ She couldn’t stop the sigh that followed.

His face pulled down in a worried frown. ‘Has he done something?’

Since the nightmare of her relationship with Trent, Gramps had been overprotective of her, and she moved to reassure him. ‘No, nothing like that and I’m stronger now. I don’t take any crap from anyone any more. I just know he’s not a natural fit for Turraburra.’

‘We’re all entitled to one bad day—give the poor guy a minute to settle in. You and Karen will have him trained up in the Turraburra ways in no time flat.’

I wish. ‘I’m not so sure about that, Gramps. In fact, the only thing I have any confidence about at all is that it’s going to be a seriously long month.’

Noah stood on the town beach, gulping in great lung-fuls of salt air like it was the last drop of oxygen on the planet. Not that he believed in any of that positive-ions nonsense but he was desperate to banish the scent of air freshener with a urine chaser from his nostrils. From his clothes. From his skin.

His heart rate thundered hard and fast like it did after a long run, only this time its pounding had nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with anxiety. Slowing his breathing, he pulled in some long, controlled deep breaths and shucked off the cloak of claustrophobia that had come out of nowhere, engulfing him ten minutes earlier. It had been years since something like that had happened and as a result he’d thought he’d conquered it, but all it had taken was two hours at the Turraburra nursing home. God, he hated this town.

He’d arrived at the clinic at eight to be told by the efficient Karen that Tuesday mornings meant rounds at the nursing home. He’d crossed the grounds of the hospital where the bright spring daffodils had mocked him with their cheery and optimistic colour. He hadn’t felt the slightest bit cheery. The nurse in charge of the nursing home had given him a bundle of patient histories and a stack of drug sheets, which had immediately put paid to his plan of dashing in and dashing out.

Apparently, it had been three weeks since there’d been a doctor in Turraburra and his morning was consumed by that added complication. The first hour had passed relatively quickly by reviewing patient histories. After that, things had gone downhill fast as he’d examined each elderly patient. Men who’d once stood tall and strong now lay hunched, droop-faced and dribbling, rendered rigid by post-stroke muscle contractions. Women had stared at him with blank eyes—eyes that had reminded him of his mother’s. Eyes that had told him they knew he could do nothing for them.

God, he hated that most. It was the reason he’d pursued surgery—at least when he operated on someone, he usually made a difference. He had the capacity to heal, to change lives, but today, in the nursing home, he hadn’t been able to do any of that. All he’d been able to do had been to write prescriptions, suggest physiotherapy and recommend protein shakes. The memories of his mother’s long and traumatic suffering had jeered at the idea that any of it added to their quality of life.

He’d just finished examining the last patient when the aroma of cabbage and beef, the scent of pure soap and lavender water and the pervading and cloying smell of liberally used air freshener had closed in on him. He’d suddenly found it very hard to breathe. He’d fled fast—desperate for fresh air—and in the process he’d rudely rejected the offer of tea and biscuits from the nurses.

He knew that wouldn’t grant him any favours with the staff but he didn’t care. In six hundred and ninety-six hours he’d be back in Melbourne. Pulling out his smartphone, he set up a countdown and called it T-zero. Now, whenever the town got to him, he didn’t have to do the mental arithmetic, he could just open the app and easily see how many hours until he could walk away from Turraburra without a backward glance.

The fresh, salty air and the long, deep breaths had done the trick and, feeling back in control, he jogged up the beach steps. Sitting on the sea wall, he took off his shoes to empty them of sand.

‘Yoo-hoo, Dr Jackson.’

He glanced up to see a line of cycling, fluoro-clad women—all who looked to be in their sixties—bearing down on him fast. The woman in front was waving enthusiastically but with a bicycle helmet on her head and sunglasses on her face he didn’t recognise her.

He gave a quick nod of acknowledgment.

She must have realised he had no clue who she was because when she stopped the bike in front of him, she said, ‘Linda Sampson, Doctor. We met yesterday morning at the corner store. I gave you directions to the clinic and sold you a coffee.’

Weak as water and undrinkable coffee. ‘Right, yes.’

‘It’s good to see you’re settling in. Turraburra has the prettiest beach this side of Wilson’s Promontory, don’t you think?’

He opened his mouth to say he didn’t really have a lot of experience with beaches but she kept right on talking. ‘The town’s got a lot to offer, especially to families. Are you married, Dr Jackson?’

‘No.’ He banged his sandy shoe against the sea wall harder than necessary, pining for the anonymity of a big city where no one would think to stop and talk to him if he was sitting on the sea wall at the Middle Park beach.

His life had been put on hold once already and he had no intention of tying himself down to another human being, animal or fish. ‘I’m happily single.’ If he’d hoped that by telling her that it would get the woman to back off, he was mistaken.

‘There’s a fine line between happily single and happily coupled up,’ Linda said with the enthusiastic smile of a matchmaker. ‘And you’re in luck. There are some lovely young women in town. The radiographer, Heather Barton, is single.’

One of the other women called out, ‘Actually, she’s dating Emma Trewella now.’

‘Is she? Well, that explains a lot,’ Linda said with a laugh. ‘Still, that leaves the physiotherapist. She’s a gorgeous girl and very into her triathlons. Do you like sports, Doctor?’

He stared at her slack-jawed. Had he been catapulted backwards in time to 1950? He couldn’t believe this woman was trying to set him up with someone.

‘Or perhaps you’d have more in common with the nurses?’ Linda continued. ‘I’m sure three of them aren’t dating anyone at the moment …’

The memory of ringless white hands gripping pink folders and sky-blue eyes sparking silver arcs shot unbidden into his mind.

‘Lucy, Penny and.’ Linda paused, turning towards her group. ‘What’s the name of the pretty nurse with the blonde hair?’

Lilia. He tied his shoe laces with a jerk and reminded himself that he wasn’t looking to date anyone and even if he had been, he most certainly wasn’t going to date her. Despite her angelic good looks, her personality was at the opposite end of the spectrum. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had horns and carried a pitchfork.

‘Grace,’ someone said. ‘Although is she truly blonde?’

Noah stood up quickly, dusting his black pants free of sand. ‘That’s quite an extensive list, Linda, but I think you’ve forgotten someone.’

She shook her head, the magpie deterrent cable ties on her helmet swinging wildly. ‘I don’t think I have.’

‘What about the midwife?’

He thought he heard a collective intake of breath from the other women and Linda’s smile faltered. ‘Lily’s married to her job, Doctor. You’re much better off dating one of the others.’

The words came with an undercurrent of a warning not to go there. Before he could ask her why, there was a flurry of ringing bike bells, called farewells and the group took off along the path—a bright slash of iridescent yellow wobbling and weaving towards the noon sun.

Lily stared at the appointment sheet and groaned. How could she have forgotten the date? It was the midwifery centre’s bi-monthly doctor clinic. Why had the planets aligned to make it this month? Why not next month when Noah Jackson would be long gone and far, far away? The luck of the Irish or any other nationality was clearly not running her way today. She was going to have to work in close proximity with him all afternoon. Just fantastic … not!

As the town’s midwife, Lily operated independently under the auspices of the Melbourne Midwifery Unit. When a newly pregnant woman made contact with her, she conducted a preliminary interview and examination. Some women, due to pre-existing medical conditions such as diabetes or a multiple pregnancy, she immediately referred to the obstetricians at the Victoria or to the Dandenong District Hospital but most women fitted the criteria to be under her care.

However, it wasn’t her decision alone. Like the other independent midwife-run birth units it was modelled on, all pregnant Turraburra clients had to be examined by a doctor once in early pregnancy. Lily scheduled these appointments to take place with the GP on one afternoon every two months. Today was the day.

Her computer beeped with an instant message from Karen.

Grumpy guts is on his way. Good luck! I’ve put Tim Tams in the kitchen. You’ll need three after working with him all afternoon.

Karen had been having a whinge in the tearoom earlier in the day about Dr Jackson. She’d called him cold, curt and a control freak. Lily was used to Karen getting defensive with new staff members who questioned her but she couldn’t believe Noah Jackson could be quite as bad as Karen made out. She’d offered Karen chocolate and wisely kept her own counsel.

‘You ready?’

The gruff tone had her swinging around on her office chair. Noah stood in the doorway with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and one hand pressed up against the doorjamb—muscles bunched and veins bulging. A flicker of something momentarily stirred low in her belly—something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Fear immediately clenched her muscles against it, trying to force it away. For her own safety she’d locked down her sexual response three years ago and it had to stay that way.

Unlike yesterday, when Noah had looked like the quintessential urban professional, today he was rumpled. His thick hair was wildly wind-ruffled, his tie was stuffed in between the third and fourth buttons of his business shirt and his black trousers bore traces of sand. Had he spent his lunch break at the beach? She loved the calming effects of the ocean and often took ten minutes to regroup between clinic sessions. Perhaps he wasn’t as stuck up as she’d first thought. ‘Been enjoying the beach?’

Shadows crossed his rich chocolate eyes. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.’

She tried hard not to roll her eyes. Perish the thought he might actually find something positive about Turraburra. Stick to talking about work. ‘Today’s clinic is all about—’

‘Pregnant women. Yeah, I get it. You do the obs, test their urine and weigh them and leave the rest to me.’

I don’t think so. She stood up because sitting with him staring down at her from those arcane eyes she felt way too vulnerable. Three years ago she’d made a commitment to herself that she was never again going to leave herself open to be placed in a powerless position with another human being. Even in low heels she was closer to his height.

‘These women are my patients and this is a rubberstamping exercise so they can be part of the midwifery programme.’

His nostrils flared. ‘As the doctor, isn’t it my decision?’

Spare me from non-team-players. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were a surgical registrar but suddenly you’re moonlighting as an obstetrician?’

His cheekbones sharpened as he sucked in a breath through his teeth and she reeled in her fraying temper. What was it about this man that made her break her own rules of never reacting? Of never provoking a man to anger? Of never putting herself at risk? She also didn’t want to give Noah Jackson any excuse to dismiss her as that crazy midwife and interfere with her programme.

‘I take that back. As Turraburra’s midwife, with five years’ experience, anyone I feel doesn’t qualify for the programme has already been referred on.’

His gaze hooked hers, brimming with discontent. ‘So, in essence, this clinic is a waste of my time?’

‘It’s protocol.’

‘Fine.’ He spun on his heel, crossed the hall and disappeared into the examination room.

She sighed and hurried in after him.

‘Bec,’ she said to the pregnant woman who was sitting, waiting, ‘this is Dr Jackson, our current locum GP. As I explained, he’ll be examining you today.’

Bec Sinclair, a happy-go-lucky woman, gave an expansive smile. ‘No worries. Good to meet you, Doc.’

Noah sat down behind the desk and gave her a brisk nod before turning his attention to the computer screen and reading her medical history. He frowned. ‘You had a baby eight months ago and you’re pregnant again?’

Bec laughed at his blatant disapproval. ‘It was a bit of a surprise, that’s for sure.’

‘I gather you weren’t organised enough to use contraception.’

Lily’s jaw dropped open. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

Bec, to her credit, didn’t seem at all fazed by his rudeness. ‘It was a dodgy condom but no harm done. We wanted another baby so the fact it’s coming a year earlier than planned is no biggie.’ She leaned towards the desk, showing Noah a photo of her little boy on her phone. ‘Lily delivered Harley, and Jase and I really want her to deliver this next one too.’

‘It will be my pleasure. Harley’s really cute, isn’t he, Noah?’ Lily said, giving him an opening for some chitchat and hoping he’d respond.

Noah ignored her and the proffered photo. Instead, he pushed back from the desk, stood and pulled the curtain around the examination table. Patting it with his hand, he said, ‘Up you get.’