The Australian's Desire

‘We’ll need a further CT scan in a few days but it’s looking good,’ he breathed.

Only then did Georgie notice a trickle of sweat running down his face. The release of pressure … He’d held himself contained, until now.

There were advantages to being a control freak, she thought, but suddenly she was far from being in control herself. She was suddenly shaking. She stepped back from the table and leaned hard against the wall.

‘Cal,’ Alistair said urgently, and Cal was by her side, pressing her onto a nearby stool, pushing her head between her knees.

‘I’m not fainting,’ she protested weakly, for that was exactly what her body felt like doing. ‘I never faint. Go back.’

‘You’ve excuse enough to faint if you feel like it,’ Alistair growled. ‘Take her out, Cal. We’re done here.’

‘But we’ve succeeded,’ Georgie whispered, and Alistair allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

‘Yeah. We’ve succeeded. With a little luck—but not much, because this is as fine a job as any I’ve seen in major US teaching hospitals, and you picked it up so early that it’s my guess she’ll end up with nothing to show for this morning’s dramas but a tiny scar.’

Georgie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Why was she shaking now?

It was the bruised cheek and the drama of yesterday, she told herself, though she knew it was no such thing. It was a mixture of all sorts of stuff, not the least the way she was feeling about the man at the operating table.

He was way out of her league, but he was so …

‘Go,’ he said gruffly, and she looked up and her eyes met his. A silent message passed between them. Unmistakable. Go on. You’ve done well here. Look after yourself.

It wasn’t said out loud but it may as well have been.

Why it made her eyes well with tears …

She didn’t cry. She never cried. She wiped her eyes with an angry swipe and stood up. Once more she had to grab for the wall for support.

‘Take her, Cal.’

Alistair sounded as if he wanted to take her himself, she thought, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.

She glanced at him again. Once more that look …

She had to get out of there.

She went.

He found her twenty minutes later. Transferring a small child from the operating table to a bed in Intensive Care sounded on the surface an easy thing to do, but the attached tubing, monitors and assorted medical paraphernalia were complex. At this stage nothing was to be left to chance. Alistair had supervised it all. Finally free, with Cal doing the first shift of ICU watch, he went to do what every surgeon must. He went to tell the family.

Lizzie.

This woman had been living a nightmare. Hopefully now the nightmare would lift.

He pushed open the door to her ward and Georgie was there. Of course. And Davy. The six-year-old was sitting on the bed with his mother while Georgie was talking to them both.

‘I thought I told you to go to bed,’ he growled, and Georgie smiled at him.

‘No. You just told me to go away.’

‘I meant you to go to bed.’

‘You’re not my doctor—sir.’ She was still smiling.

‘My Megan is going to be all right?’ Lizzie whispered. ‘Georgie says she should …’

‘She’s not completely out of danger yet,’ Alistair said, knowing there was no point in being less than honest. ‘But the outlook is good.’

‘Georgie’s explained it to me,’ Lizzie said. ‘So I know.’

‘It’s great,’ he said softly, smiling at Georgie, and she smiled back. The shaking had stopped. She’d regained a bit of colour. Basically back to normal?

Except for one smashed cheek and one missing kid brother.

‘And I know what happened to Georgie’s face,’ Lizzie continued. Lizzie’s strength was returning as the antibiotics took hold. Antibiotics had been flowing for twenty-four hours now, knocking the infection, and the difference was amazing. ‘I hardly noticed her face this morning but now I have, and the police have been in to get my statement. But they said Smiley’s going to jail, no matter what I say, so I may as well be truthful. It didn’t make sense but then I saw Georgie’s face. I really saw …’

‘I ran into a door,’ Georgie muttered, and put a hand to her cheek.

‘Called Smiley. I know his punches. I can practically recognise his knuckle marks.’

‘It doesn’t—’

‘He had it in for you,’ Lizzie said, and the woman looked shyly up at Alistair, trying to explain. ‘My last birth … with Megan, I bled and bled. I was OK in the end but this time Georgie told Smiley that if he didn’t bring me into hospital when I went into labour she was going to use his testicles for fish bait. She said it real casual-like, and when he laughed she got quiet and said, “Don’t push it, mate, ‘cos I’ve got the entire Hell’s Riders bikers’ gang behind me and they don’t like you any more than I do.” So when I had pains he brought me in, just like it was his idea, but I know he hated it.’

‘You need to leave him behind,’ Georgie said softly, and Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Yeah, but when he gets out of jail …’

‘He won’t be back for a while. With his suspended sentence, plus what he gets for this, it’ll be at least a couple of years.’

‘Even then …’

‘Then you need to refocus,’ Alistair said, watching Georgie thoughtfully. Maybe some things needed to be faced. ‘You know that Georgie had it tough when she was a kid?’

‘Hey,’ Georgie said, astounded.

‘You told me people used to punch you,’ he said softly. ‘So it seems you went out and got a black belt in karate.’

‘I did,’ she said, and she managed a smile.

‘But Smiley still punched you,’ Lizzie whispered.

‘Only because you wanted him to punch you,’ Alistair said.

There was absolute silence in the room at that. Davy was big-eyed, unsure of what was going on but smart enough to keep his mouth shut and listen.

And Lizzie figured it out, just like that. ‘You did that for me?’ Lizzie whispered.

‘She did it to give you another chance,’ Alistair said. ‘Do you think you might take it?’

‘Lizzie’s tired,’ Georgie interjected, embarrassed. ‘We shouldn’t be pushing it now.’

‘There’s never a better time to take a stand,’ Alistair said. ‘A line in the sand. Lizzie, yesterday Smiley was your dog-ugly, violent partner. Today he can be your ex-partner, a bad memory you can use the law to protect yourself from.’

‘You reckon I could learn karate?’ Lizzie asked, half-joking, but Alistair didn’t smile and neither did Georgie.

‘You can have your first lesson before you get out of here,’ Georgie promised. ‘As soon as you’re up to it.’

‘I’d … I’d like that.’

‘Then it’s a deal,’ Georgie said, and rose and nudged Alistair. Her message was clear. Lizzie had had enough.

‘You’ve made my mummy better,’ Davy said suddenly, snuggling down against his mother and smiling up at them.

‘Would you like to learn karate, too?’ Georgie asked, and the little boy’s face lit up.

‘I’ve seen karate on telly. Pyjamas and kicking. It looks cool.’

‘It’s also fun. You and your mum could have fun together.’

‘Fun,’ Lizzie whispered, as if it was a foreign word, and Georgie smiled and turned and left the room, leaving Alistair to follow.

He caught her before she reached the outer doors. She was sagging again, her shoulders slumping a little as she pushed against the glass doors. He caught her and pulled her inside again. What he wanted to say couldn’t be said in the fierce wind.

‘How much did you sleep last night?’ he demanded, tugging her back and letting the doors swing closed again.

‘Enough.’

‘Not enough,’ he growled. ‘You’re grey around the edges.’

‘I am not.’

‘Not outwardly but inside …’

‘Oh, cut it out. You sound like Charles. Trying to make me stay in bed.’

‘If Dr Wetherby was saying you need the day in bed, I concur.’

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Why not? Is anyone in labour?’

‘No, but—’

‘There you go, then. The entire medical staff of Croc Creek is stuck indoors, waiting for this weather to clear. Plus there are at least half a dozen spare doctors here for the wedding. Before Megan’s drama Gina was so bored she resorted to putting ribbons around chicken bones.’

Georgie smiled at that. Albeit weakly. ‘I should help her. And the wedding’s at four.’

‘No,’ he said, gently but firmly. ‘You need to sleep. No one’s going to be upset if you miss the wedding.’

‘I need to phone—’

‘Who do you need to phone?’

‘Anyone who might know where Max is.’

‘Do you have a list?’

‘I … Yes.’ She gave a shamefaced smile. ‘I sort of … found it last time Ron was here. When I knew he was taking Max away. He stayed overnight at the pub. I suggested to the publican that he might let me into his bedroom. I borrowed an address book he had.’

‘You borrowed …’

‘I copied out every phone number,’ she said. ‘Just ‘cos I knew he was taking Max and I thought …’

‘It was a great idea. You’ve been ringing the numbers?’

‘Yes.’

‘So how far through the list are you?’

‘About a third.’

‘No response?’

‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘Some of them recognise me. They know my stepfather hates me.’

‘So I might get further?’ he said thoughtfully.

‘But you don’t want—’

‘I do want. I can contact people and say I’m a doctor who’s deeply concerned about Max’s welfare. I can say there are medical imperatives that make contacting him urgent.’

‘Medical imperatives …’

‘It’ll make you sleep at night,’ he said. ‘Definitely medical imperatives.’

She choked, half with laughter, half with tears. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze head on. And came to a decision.

‘It might work,’ she said.

‘I might get a better reception. A doctor saying there’s an urgent medical need to contact a kid is bound to get a better reception than you looking for your father for a reason they don’t know.’

‘I … You’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘I’ll come and get the list. I’m not invited to this wedding. The weather’s keeping me indoors. I have all the time in the world.’

They walked back slowly to the doctors’ quarters. The wind was still howling. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Alistair’s arm to come around her waist and support her against its force.

They walked back inside the house—and stopped dead.

The house had been taken over by chaos.

There were bridesmaids everywhere—four or five at least—and a couple of flowergirls for good measure. There were three little boys in pale pink trousers and white shirts. There were women—lots of women. In the middle enveloped in white tulle was …

‘Emily,’ Georgie said, awed. ‘Look at you.’

‘I look like a toilet brush,’ Emily wailed.

‘Toilet brush?’

‘Have you seen the toilet brushes Mrs Poulos uses? They’re all white tulle. Just like me. Why did I agree to a Greek wedding?’

‘‘Cos you fell in love with a Greek?’ Georgie suggested, and grinned. Then her smile faded. ‘Em, would you mind very much if I missed a bit of your wedding?’

‘Not at all,’ Emily said promptly. ‘I’m with you. Shall we do a Thelma and Louise—fast car to Texas?’

‘Not with Mike chasing us,’ Georgie said. ‘He’d catch us before the edge of town. You’re committed now, girl. You need to face the music.’

‘But your face is hurting,’ Emily said, her expression softening as she took in the strain in her friend’s eyes. ‘And you’re terrified about Max. Harry told us how worried you are.’ She looked thoughtfully at Alistair. ‘But you have Alistair to look after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after.’

‘Hey, she does,’ Emily said, pushing through assorted bridesmaids and flower girls to hug Georgie with affection. ‘She’s prickly as a hedgehog on the outside but inside she’s just marshmallow,’ she told Alistair. ‘Georgie, go to bed. That’s where you should be.’

‘I need to make phone calls.’

‘No, I’m making phone calls,’ Alistair reminded her, ‘while you rest.’

‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Emily said, but then she was distracted. A middle-aged lady in flowery Crimplene was hovering in the background with what looked like a crimping wand. The woman was practically vibrating with anxiety. ‘No, Sophia, I don’t want any more curls. I look like Shirley Temple as it is.’

‘Hey, you need to get on with Operation Wedding,’ Georgie said, and kissed her friend and pushed her away. ‘I’ll pop into church and see you tie the actual knot. But I might give the reception a miss.’

‘If you decide you can make it, Alistair can bring you.’ Emily looked ruefully around at the chaos. ‘With this mob no one will notice an extra. Or a hundred extras.’

‘I think we both might give it a miss,’ Alistair said faintly, taking charge, putting his arm around Georgie and steering her through the sea of bridesmaids as he’d steered her into the blasting wind. ‘Georgie’s beat.’

‘But we’ll be there in spirit,’ Georgie called over her shoulder. ‘Make sure you save me an almond basket with wishbone.’

‘They’re for fertility,’ Emily said, as the crimping machine descended. ‘You sure you want one?’

‘We’ve changed our minds,’ Alistair and Georgie said in unison. ‘No fertility baskets.’

CHAPTER FIVE

ALISTAIR insisted that Georgie go to bed, but she refused. She wanted to listen to his phone calls. They compromised by using the hands-free phone, with him sitting in her bedside chair, gradually working his way through her list of names. The sounds of the impending wedding were all through the house—mass hysteria was a good description—and the rising wind made the sounds almost surreal. Inside Georgie’s bedroom was an oasis of calm. Intimate even.

Which was the wrong way to look at it, Georgie decided as she lay back and watched Alistair work. She shouldn’t be doing this, but there seemed little choice.

The painkillers Alistair had insisted she take were making her woozy. The panic of the last few hours was settling. Crazy or not, this man seemed a calming influence. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll take care of it,’ he’d said. There was something to be said for big men. There was something to be said for men with gorgeous, prematurely silver hair and tanned skin and smiley eyes and …

And she’d had too many painkillers. Alistair was running through number after number and she needed to concentrate on what he was saying.

He made no mention of her. Alistair presented himself as Dr Alistair Carmichael, paediatric consultant at the Centre for Rural Medical Services in North Queensland. He obviously saw no need to mention that he wasn’t actually employed here. He obviously saw no need to mention the name Crocodile Creek which, if her father had shot his mouth off about her, would be instantly recognisable to his mates.

What he said was truly impressive. Almost scary.

‘We have urgent medical concerns regarding seven-year-old Max.’

That was about her, Georgie thought dreamily. Alistair’s medical concern was that not knowing Max’s whereabouts was interfering with her sleep and therefore medically undesirable.

‘We understand Max’s father is not in a position to contact us, but any help you could give us in locating his son would be very much appreciated. Any information will be treated in utmost confidence—doctor-patient confidentiality is sacrosanct. But it’s imperative that this child is located. Can I give you my private number? If there’s any information at all, we’d very much appreciate it. If you can see your way to help us or if you could pass a message to his father to ring me …’

They’ll think he’s carrying cholera or something, she decided as he worked through the list. It sounded scary.

As long as it worked.

It wasn’t working immediately. Time after time Alistair was met with negatives. ‘But they’re not absolute negatives,’ Alistair told her. ‘Lots of the numbers I’m ringing are private numbers and a few wives and girlfriends of your stepfather’s mates have been answering. They sound concerned. They seem to know Max and I’ve got them worried. Most of them have written my number down and have promised to get back to me if they hear anything. Hopefully I might have pushed some of them to ask the right questions.’

It was the best he could do. Georgie lay back and listened, letting the painkillers take effect, letting her fear for Max recede. Everything that could be done was being done. She didn’t have to stir herself. She was almost asleep …

‘Megan,’ she said once, rousing, and Alistair touched her hand in reassurance.

‘She’s fine. Gina just came to the door and told me. She’s awake and seems more alert already, and that’s with the effect of the anaesthetic not worn off. We think we’ve won. When this list is finished, I’ll check again.’

Wonderful. Megan would be OK.

She was so close to sleep.

The last phone call was made. She should tell Alistair to go. She didn’t need him there. But …

But she didn’t tell him to go. The sensation of someone picking up her burden of responsibility was so novel that she couldn’t argue.

He was there. He was … nice?

She slept.

He should go. He’d finished the list. He’d done what he’d set out to do. Hopefully he had people asking questions all over the country, trying to find the whereabouts of one small boy.

Georgie was asleep. There was no point in him sitting beside her bedside any longer.

But he sat on. Outside was the chaos of the impending wedding. The wind was gathering strength—hell, he was starting to disbelieve the reports that this cyclone was blowing out to sea. How strong did wind have to get before it was categorised a cyclone?

He glanced out the window at the grey, storm-tossed sea and the palms bending wildly in the wind. This was amazing.

He glanced back to Georgie’s bed, and he ceased thinking about the wind.

She was beautiful.

She was messing with his head.

She’d messed with his head six months ago, he thought grimly. He’d been happily settled, engaged to Eloise, paying a brief visit to Gina to make sure things were OK in his cousin’s world. He’d met Cal and approved the match. He’d stayed on so he could make a family speech at their engagement party.

He’d met Georgie.

He’d actually met her earlier on the day of the party. She’d been sitting on the veranda of the doctors’ house, drinking beer straight from the bottle. He’d talked to her for a moment. She’d sounded aggressive, angry, but also … frightened? It was a weird combination, he’d thought. He hadn’t realised she was a doctor. He’d thought somehow then that she was a woman in some sort of trouble.

It had been a weird assumption, based on nothing but the defiant glint in those gorgeous eyes. He’d tried to talk to her but she’d been curt and abrasive, shoving off from the veranda, making it very clear that he’d been intruding in her personal space.

Then that night … she’d turned up to the party in a tiny red cocktail dress that would have done a streetwalker proud. It had clung so tightly that she surely couldn’t have had anything on under it. She’d worn those gorgeous red stilettos, fabulous hoop earrings and nothing else.

She was so far from what he thought was desirable in a woman that he shouldn’t have even looked. He liked his women controlled. Elegant. Like … well, like Eloise.

But he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Then as the night wore on she approached him. He’d suggested—tentatively if he recalled it right—that they dance. She’d tugged him onto the floor, put her arms around his neck, started moving that gorgeous body in time to the music, close against him …

Alistair’s world was carefully controlled. He’d learned the hard way what happened when that control was lost. How many times had he heard his father use that dumb line—‘I just couldn’t help myself.’

Yeah, well, he could help himself, until he held Georgie in his arms, until he smelt the wild musk smell of her perfume, until he felt her hair brush his cheek …

He picked her up and carried her out of the hall. That, too, was partly at her instigation. ‘Do you want to take me home, big boy?’

It had been a really dumb line. A total cliché. But it was an invitation he couldn’t resist. She held him tight around the neck and she let her knees buckle so he had no choice but to sweep her up into her arms. And carry her outside …

It was just as well Gina saw them go. His cousin moved like lightning, furious with him, concerned for her friend, acting like he was some sort of ghastly sexual predator.

‘She’s in trouble,’ Gina told him. ‘She’s not acting normally. She’s vulnerable. Leave her alone.’

It was like a douche of iced water. Waking him up from a trance.

He left Georgie to her. He walked away, thinking he’d never see her again. But thinking … vulnerable? How the hell did Gina figure that out?

The next day, halfway through Gina’s tour of the hospital, they walked into the midwifery ward and there she was. Georgie Turner. Obstetrician.

He’d assumed she held some sort of menial job at the hospital. But an obstetrician. He was stunned.

She didn’t speak to him. He walked into the ward and she walked out. Once again he felt belittled. Guilty for a sin he hadn’t had a chance to commit.

He should have got over it. And he was, he thought, gazing down at Georgie’s face on the white pillow. He didn’t want anything to do with someone as needy as Georgie.

But things had changed. When he’d returned to the States things had seemed different. His relationship with Eloise, seemingly so suitable, had suddenly seemed cloying. Dull?

A month later he’d told Eloise he couldn’t go through with it. Not because of Georgie—or not directly because of Georgie. It was just that Georgie had showed him there was a life on the other side of control. He hadn’t wanted it, but it hadn’t been fair to Eloise to settle for her as an alternative. Eloise had hardly seemed disappointed, staying friends, accepting his decision with calmness. That had been great. That was why he admired her so much. He wanted that level of control.

He had it—except when he saw Georgie.

He couldn’t stay to watch Georgie sleep. It didn’t make sense.

But he wanted to stay.

‘It’s no use wanting what we can’t have.’ It was his mother’s whiny voice, echoing from his childhood. When his father had disappeared in a cloud of gambling debts, taking off with a woman half his age, his mother’s voice had moved to whine and had never returned to normal.

‘You keep your life under control. You make sure—make sure, Alistair, any way you know how that you never put yourself in the position where you can be humiliated so much you want to take your own life. I’m so close to suicide … All I have is you. Oh, Alistair, be careful.’

It had been a dreadful threat to hang on a child, but Alistair had known she’d meant it. If he’d threatened her nice stable existence—her pride in her son …

Well, he hadn’t. He wouldn’t even now, when his mother was long dead. So what the hell was he doing, staring down at this sleeping woman and thinking …?

He shook himself. He wasn’t thinking anything that’d worry anyone, including him. This was jet-lag. Exhaustion after this morning’s operation. Concern for a woman who had more than she deserved on her shoulders.

So get a grip, he told himself, but he let himself look at her for one long moment before he stood and walked slowly to the door.

And left her to her sleeping.

This wind was getting frightening. As Alistair walked out into the living room a shutter slammed off its hinges, hit the wall, broke off and tumbled crosswise past the house. He heard its progress, not falling but being blown. It was a big shutter.

One of the assembled bridesmaids screamed.

There were so many bridesmaids, still clustered. Apparently they’d dispersed to get their make-up done and now they’d regrouped. How long did bridal preparations last? The photographer was trying to get them lined up but was having trouble.