Rescued By The Single Dad Doc

Rachel had won the scholarship eight years ago, when Tom’s father still headed the trustees, but his parents were now living overseas and the file was in Tom’s possession. When it was time for Rachel to take up her appointment, Tom had hauled it out and read it.

It didn’t make pretty reading. Poverty, foster homes, eventual homelessness but, throughout it all, a grinding determination to be a doctor. She hadn’t had the highest marks of the applicants but her sheer grit had made the award a no-brainer.

Now she was looking at her car as if this was a catastrophe. He watched her face crumple, her hand go to her eyes.

‘Rachel?’

She gasped and swivelled, swiping her face fiercely with the back of her hand. Her long-sleeved shirt was still blood-stained where Kit had leaned on her shoulder in the car. Her soft brown curls were tangled back behind her ears, there was a smudge of blood on her cheek and her brown eyes looked too big in her too-pale face. She looked younger than the twenty-eight years she was, he thought. Defenceless? It was a strange adjective to describe her but that was how he saw her.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said, struggling to find control. ‘Go back to Kit.’

‘We’re not really at the end of the earth,’ he said gently, because something told him what was before her was more important than a messy car. ‘We might not have plastic surgeons but we do have a car dealership. Roy’s talent—aside from selling people cars they haven’t realised they need—is detailing. He can take a farm bomb that’s been lived in by farmers, pigs, dogs, whatever, and turn it into a gleaming bargain of the century. And this…’

He looked at the gorgeous scarlet lacquer, the sheer beauty of the little roadster. ‘This would be his absolute pleasure to clean. The only thing you need to fear is him putting it into his showroom window when he’s done.’

‘Really?’ She sniffed and eyed him with distrust. ‘But it’s blood. Don’t people have rules about contamination?’

‘He might charge more,’ Tom agreed. ‘But this was an accident, Rachel, caused by my stepson. My insurance will more than cover it.’ He wasn’t actually sure that it would, but there was no way he was saying that now. The responsibility was his. He’d pay a king’s ransom to get her a clean car if necessary. ‘Meanwhile, I’m heading to Sydney, thanks to you, so you can use my car.’ He motioned to the car park, to a large serviceable SUV. ‘You might even think about buying such a car for here. It’s much more sensible.’

She had herself under control again now. He saw her regroup, and then gaze at his battered SUV with dislike.

‘I might need to be a country doctor for two years,’ she said. ‘But there is nothing on earth that’d persuade me to swap my Petal for that…that…’

‘Don’t say it,’ he said urgently, and smiled. ‘That’s Moby Dick, christened by the boys, and Moby’s sensitive.’

‘Moby doesn’t look like he has a sensitive nerve in his body.’

‘Looks are deceptive.’ He hesitated. ‘But…you will drive it? Just until I get back? Rachel, I can’t tell you…’

‘I don’t want you to tell me,’ she said, the anger he’d sensed from the start resurfacing. ‘We all do what we have to do, Dr Lavery, and if that involves me driving Moby Dick…’

‘And taking responsibility for two small boys. And starting work three days early. It’s a huge ask.’

‘It’s not an ask. It’s just what is,’ she said. ‘Whatever what is needs to be faced, and there’s no use arguing. And for you… What is includes doing what you need to do for your stepsons. You’ve failed in that department already today so it’s time to do better.’

Her anger was right there, in his face. Her brown eyes were flashing. Challenging.

‘You’re judging me?’ he demanded.

‘Of course I am. You really think Christine is a reliable childminder?’

‘I had no choice.’

‘Isn’t keeping kids safe the most important choice of all?’ She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to collect herself. ‘That’s your business, however. I don’t know your circumstances. It’s not serious enough to report to the authorities…’

‘The authorities,’ he said, gobsmacked. ‘You’d go there?’

‘If I think children are seriously neglected, of course,’ she snapped. ‘Stepfather or not.’

‘Is this your background speaking?’

That silenced her. She stared at him blankly for a moment before responding. ‘What…what do you know of my background?’

‘I’m the grandson of Roger Lavery. I’m a trustee for his scholarship fund. I read your application.’

‘Then forget it,’ she snapped, the picture of outrage. ‘As my colleague, it smacks of prying, and it has no bearing on what’s happening now. Dr Lavery, I have to organise myself if I’m to stay with your boys and so do you. The evac chopper should be here soon. You have packing to do, plus explaining to Henry and Marcus what’s happening. They’re confused and upset and they’re still with the appalling Christine. So that’s your what is. They need to be reassured, Christine needs to be sacked and you need to get packed. Go do it, Dr Lavery. Ring Rose if you can, and tell her I’ll be there with my toothbrush in an hour.’

‘Rachel, I can’t tell you…’

‘Then don’t tell me,’ she said angrily. ‘And don’t you dare pry into my private business again. Just get things done.’

An hour later he was sitting in the rear of the evac chopper, wondering what on earth had happened.

How had it come to this?

Kit was asleep, courtesy of the strong painkillers he’d been given. The two paramedics on board were more than capable of taking care of Kit medically. Tom’s role was that of parent.

Parent.

The word still hung heavy.

He remembered the night Claire had asked him. ‘Please, Tom, will you marry me? I can’t think what else to do.’

What followed had been one marriage, three adoptions and Claire’s death, and his life had changed for ever. He sat in the helicopter looking down at one injured child, thinking he’d just dumped two others on a woman he hardly knew. This was a nightmare. And if Claire’s parents found out…

He raked his fingers through his hair, struggling to get his head around the logistics of this mess, and the paramedic next to him glanced at him in sympathy.

‘You’ve had a shock too, mate. We can set you up on the other stretcher if you like, give you a chance to close your eyes and regroup.’

It needed only this, to be treated as a patient.

But that was what he felt like at the moment, as if he’d been punched in the guts. He was so out of his depth.

Who was the woman in charge of his children? A fiery newcomer who’d judged him and found him wanting. A woman he’d met only hours before.

He had Roscoe in the background, he reminded himself, and he had Rose. They’d keep an eye on her.

But her anger stayed with him.

He looked down at Kit’s white face, at his limp little body. These kids had been through so much. And his lack of care had caused more pain… She’d been right to look at him with fury.

‘Lie down,’ the paramedic said again, gently, and he thought maybe he needed to.

He looked sick because that was how he felt.

What had she done, offering to mind two boys for days?

She didn’t get involved. Ever. What crazy impulse had led her to say she’d help out?

Medicine was what Rachel used to settle her and it was medicine she focused on now. She sat in Tom’s office and read through histories of the patients in the hospital. Five were elderly, recuperating from falls or waiting for home care arrangements. Three were here for rehab, transferred back from city hospitals, preparing to go home. One was a thirty-seven-weeks-pregnant mum with five kids at home. Tom had written in heavy letters—‘Bed rest until her sister arrives from Canada!’

The final history was that of a farmer with an infected leg after being kicked by a cow. According to the history, he was responding to antibiotics. There seemed nothing she couldn’t handle.

She did a round and introduced herself. Without exception, the patients were full of questions but she backed away fast. That was something else she’d been warned of with country medicine. ‘Everyone will know everything about you in two minutes.’

Tom Lavery already knew more about her than she was comfortable with. At least she could back away from patients before they got personal.

Roscoe found her as she saw the last one. ‘Everything’s arranged,’ he told her. ‘Christine’s feeling bad about what’s happened. Big of her, but she’s decided to be helpful. She’s moving her Aunt Rose in now. Rose will give everyone the hugs they need. The boys love her. If you can…your job is just to be there at the edges. Make sure Rose doesn’t start washing or scrubbing. She has osteoarthritis and her hip’s probably more painful than she’s letting on, but she loves the boys.’

‘That’s great,’ Rachel said, feeling relieved. ‘I can do whatever else needs to be done but the hugging is her department.’

She didn’t do hugging. Almost unconsciously, her fingers drifted to one of the bands of scar tissue she could still feel around her upper arms. After twenty-eight years she didn’t know how to hug. She didn’t know how to love, and she had no intention of trying.

So now what?

‘Roy Matheson’s outside, checking the damage to your car,’ Roscoe told her. ‘Tom must have phoned him. All he needs is your keys and he reckons he’ll have her good as new in no time. Here are Doc’s keys for Moby Dick. We’ll call you back if we need you. Meanwhile, you go and do what you have to do.’ He hesitated. ‘You know how grateful we all are that you’re doing this? It’s really generous.’

‘I hardly had a choice.’ She couldn’t help it; her voice sounded waspish.

‘You could have refused. We’d have found a way. This is a tight community. If you hadn’t offered we’d have muddled through somehow. No one’s left in the lurch here. We care.’

And why did that make her feel weird?

Her childhood. The loneliness.

No one’s left in the lurch here.

Enough. She gave herself a mental shake and took the proffered car keys. She needed to find… Moby Dick? She also needed to figure out the boundaries of the next few days.

For boundaries had to be set, she told herself. Boundaries were what she lived within.

She could do this.

But at the back of her mind a question was niggling. She’d wanted to ask Roscoe but her boundaries had stopped her.

These were Tom’s stepsons—what on earth was a man doing with three kids who weren’t his own?

Hadn’t he heard of boundaries?

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