f over their heads. Mostly doing skin grafts over burns, repairing scars—anything to make their lives a little less horrific.’
‘Fi, it’s fantastic, but you have to admit you had no intention of doing anything like that when you were still specialising.’ Damn it, he’d used the Fi word again. But again she’d surprised him. Leopards didn’t change their spots. Neither would Fiona go to live in some of the most uncomfortable locations in the world. Not unless she took a jumbo jet full of luxuries to keep her happy.
Wait up. He wasn’t giving her a chance. Already he’d noticed small changes in her. Mostly physical ones, true. And in the kind of clothes she now wore. She also seemed a lot calmer than she’d used to be. So what was to say she hadn’t changed majorly in her attitude to life? She’d certainly had plenty of reasons to. If she had, he could only admire her for it. And wonder where she was emotionally. Had she got over Liam’s death enough to want children again? Had she managed to get to the point where she could look back on their marriage and remember the good things it had had going for it?
He remembered a lot of those good things, but that didn’t mean he wanted to repeat the experience. Friday nights had been especially lonely ever since she’d left, because Fiona had always made them special—closing out the world, tuning out work, cooking a meal that they had time to enjoy while they chatted and relaxed and laughed together. He’d missed her spontaneous hugs and the way she’d creep up behind him to slide her arms around his waist and lay her face on his back between his shoulder blades. That small act had always made him feel so loved. He shoved down on the knot of warmth creeping under his ribs and changed tack.
‘What happened to that fantastic opportunity to go into private practice with some of the country’s best plastic surgeons waiting for you once you’d qualified?’
‘I turned it down. It didn’t seem like the right thing for me any more. And as it happened, it was the best decision career-wise I ever made.’ As she talked her deep azure eyes lightened—eyes that had haunted his sleep for six long, unrelenting years.
Glancing at his watch, he told her, ‘I’d like to hear all about what you’ve been up to, but it’ll have to wait. Time’s speeding by.’ He strode along the corridor to the staff quarters and the door leading out to his cottage. He wanted to pretend she wasn’t right behind him. He needed space between them so he could put everything back into perspective. Fat chance. Hearing her trotting steps as her shorter legs tried to keep pace with his long ones made him smile inside, and he slowed down to accommodate her, as he’d used to before they’d crashed and burned.
‘Fi—’ Damn it. ‘Fiona, let me take those other bags.’ He reached for them, slipping them out of her grasp.
‘I can manage.’
‘I know, but humour me. I’m trying to be the perfect host.’
She smiled up at him, and his heart lurched. Just like that. A simple smile, and she’d tugged him even closer, had him remembering all sorts of sweet things about her.
Whoa. Go carefully. Put the barriers back up and keep your distance. Because, as much as he felt drawn to Fiona again, he couldn’t trust her not to trample on his feelings. In order to protect himself he had to remember to act professionally with her.
Chapter Three
FIONA missed Tom’s hand on her elbow the moment he reached for her other bags. If it had meant carrying her bags to keep that small contact then she’d have gladly done so. But she didn’t have a choice.
So she’d try talking instead.
‘Tell me how it works around here. Where your patients come from, that sort of thing.’
‘There are two components to the hospital.’ Relief underlined Tom’s words, as though he might be grateful for the change in topic. ‘The surgical unit where you’ll be working is where we see children from all over the South Island who need various specialists’ care. I look after the general paediatric cases. Then I get in other specialists, usually for a week at a time.’
‘So this week is devoted to patients requiring plastic surgery?’
‘Exactly. A lot of the children are from underprivileged backgrounds, but I take everyone who needs us and find funding from various sources.’
‘Social Services?’
‘For some cases. We also rely on charities. In here.’ He waved her into a large room containing a kitchen and dining area at one end, an array of comfortable armchairs and a television at the other. ‘This is the communal living quarters used by specialist staff we draft in and the interns who rotate through here from Canterbury Medical School.’
He paused to draw a deep breath, and Fiona instantly sensed she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
‘All the rooms are in use, so originally I arranged for Jerome to share my cottage. We get on very well and have become friends over the years.’ His troubled gaze met hers with defiance. ‘Which means you are now sharing with me. I know it’s not going to be easy for either of us, but I hope we can make it work.’
‘You couldn’t change the arrangements?’ She couldn’t blame him if he’d wanted to, but nor could she stop the hurt that stabbed her.
‘Unfortunately not—because that would’ve been for the best.’ His tone was neutral, but his stance rigid.
‘I’m not here for an argument, Tom. I’m filling a gap at the hospital for you.’ Exasperation rocked through her. Her bottom lip trembled. Exhaustion had caught up, big-time. What else could be causing this reaction to him? Certainly not having him standing so close to her.
Moving away, she stared at up at his face, suddenly cross for putting them both in this situation. Drawing a deep breath—a steady one, she was surprised to note—she suggested, ‘How about I move into a motel or hotel in the village? It’s only half a kilometre away. I won’t need transport and I’d be available all the time.’
‘I already tried that but everything’s booked out. There’s a golf tournament on this week. Plus it’s school holidays, and many families come here for the snow and hot pools.’
‘Guess we’re stuck with this arrangement, then.’
Tom mightn’t be too happy about it, but she felt another surge of hope. This could be the opportunity that she wanted to get alongside him again. But first she’d let him get used to having her around.
‘I’ll do my best to stay out of your way. Now, where’s this place you live? I’d like to unpack and put on some warmer clothes.’
Tom stood looking at her as though he had more to say. But finally he turned around, wrenched open an outside door, and led the way along a path winding to a stone cottage set amongst young oak trees.
‘Here’s a key for you.’ He delved into his pocket. ‘Come and go as you please.’
‘Is there anyone else living here?’ Did he have a partner she needed to know about? ‘Am I going to get in anyone else’s way in the bathroom?’ Her stomach crunched as she waited for his reply.
His grey eyes darkened with sadness. ‘I live alone. And, for the record, I haven’t got a woman in my life at the moment.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ She smiled, and her stomach relaxed. Why did this knowledge make her feel better? It wasn’t as though she’d come to claim Tom back. Something niggled at the back of her brain. Really? No, this week was about tying up the loose ends, not starting over.
‘I’m not saying I haven’t dated on and off, but this place takes up a lot of my attention. No one I’ve met has been able to deal with that. I guess I’m too selfish to make allowances.’
‘I’d say you were dedicated.’ And still working every hour there was in a day, to the detriment of everything else.
‘What about you? Have you taken any poor, unsuspecting man to meet your father over the years?’ A straightforward question, but did she hear more than curiosity behind the words?
‘No way.’ Then a chuckle tripped over her tongue at the memory of Tom meeting her father for the first time. ‘I’m not game enough to put anyone through that ordeal ever again.’
; He nodded, gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Very wise. Meeting your father is not to be taken lightly, or without protection.’
She grinned, remembering the difficult introduction Tom and her father had had. From that day on they’d never agreed on anything. They’d both loved her for different reasons and in different ways. Her father had demanded too much of her. Her husband had asked nothing of her. ‘Believe it or not, Dad’s calmed down a lot lately, having finally accepted that I will live my life how I want to, not how he expects. And I’ve learned not to try and live up to his expectations.’
‘Bet that wasn’t easy.’ A twinkle lightened his eyes. ‘Let’s go in before you freeze to death.’
Inside the front door, Fiona stared around the tiny entranceway and along the hall, avidly looking for anything from their life together. All she saw were stunning black and white landscapes: mountains, rivers, the ocean.
‘Your photography is still superb.’
‘The scenery around here lends itself to great photographs.’
She quickly scanned the photos, searching. Not one photo of the two of them. Nothing of Liam. As a keen photographer, Tom used to plaster the walls of their home with photos. Many of her, she admitted. Her mood slumped. She had been expecting too much. Disappointment stabbed her diaphragm, as though she had a stitch from running too hard. Putting a hand to the wall, she leaned against it, sucking air through her teeth.
Her pack landed with a thud on the floor of a room off to the left, and Tom called out, ‘This is your room. Mine’s opposite, while the kitchen, lounge and bathroom are at the end of the hall.’
With an effort, she dragged herself upright and clumped through the bedroom door. The furnishings in the small, neat room were sparse. The bed stood square to the wall, the coverings tucked in evenly. Only the vibrant terracotta and blue decorating made the room warm and welcoming. Tom had a good eye for colour.