He swung around to scan the pool, found the children from the hospital at the other end clustered around Evan, one of the interns, who was organising them into teams.
‘What game can these kids play, considering they’ve got haemophilia?’ Fiona asked beside him.
‘There’s the problem. Contact sports are out, but how to stop them? We try to organise a version of volleyball, where each player has to stay within their designated space. See those squares painted on the bottom of the pool? The local council did that for us. But it’s hard to keep the children in their allocated square. Their parents tell me I worry too much.’
‘Guess they’re used to having to cope with any resultant bumps.’ Fiona watched one of the boys diving under the water to drag a friend beneath the surface.
‘Looks like they’re about to play bull rush. At least racing each other through the water should be safe from bumps and bangs.’
‘Let’s join them and have some fun.’ Fiona slid into the water, her tee shirt billowing momentarily before absorbing the water and sinking close to her skin, hugging her curves.
His mouth dried. What was it about this woman that always affected him so easily? It seemed that some things never changed.
Someone yelled, ‘Come on, Dr Tom! Bet you can’t beat me to the end!’
A simple race should be safe. ‘An ice cream says I can!’
Hauling himself back onto the side of the pool after the race, Tom sat dangling his feet in the water. He could watch over everyone from here. But it was Fiona that his eyes kept returning to. Time and tragedy had not dimmed her beauty. Her small frame might be slighter than he remembered, but her muscles were still toned and her arms tanned deep walnut. Her dark blonde hair had faded to almost white, no doubt from the sun.
She had said something about wanting to talk to him. Caution snagged his gut. He didn’t do talking. But, watching her laughing with young Jordan, he began to wonder if he’d be missing out on something important if he didn’t try.
‘That surgeon of yours is good with the kids.’ One of the fathers sat down beside him. ‘See her playing like that and it’s hard to imagine she’s a plastic surgeon. Maybe she had a thing for embroidery as a kid.’
‘Fiona? Needlework?’ Tom spluttered. ‘Don’t be fooled by her appearance. When Fiona wants to have fun you’ll find her white water rafting, parachuting, or flying a plane. You will never find her embroidering.’
But then a memory teased the edge of his mind, grew vivid. Fiona bent over an aged cream-coloured robe, carefully repairing a small tear in the generations-old family garment. She’d done it for Liam to wear at his christening. The christening they’d never had. Pain slid in under his skin, wrapped around his heart. His son had died too soon. Years too soon. No parent should outlive their child.
A cry from across the pool snapped through his mind. He jerked his head up, searched the pool. In the middle, Fiona pushed through the water towards two lads, Morgan and Baden. With his heart in his throat, Tom dropped into the pool and swam to join them.
‘What happened?’ he demanded.
‘It’s okay, I just banged my arm on Morgan’s head,’ Baden tried to reassure Tom.
But he wasn’t taking the boy’s word that everything was all right. ‘Get out of the water so I can take a look. You too, Morgan. Out,’ Tom ordered. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.
Fiona hoisted herself out of the water and turned to give Baden a hand. With the boys out, and Fiona checking Baden, Tom concentrated on Morgan. For the second time that day they were working together, and it felt good.
Evan brought across the medical bag that went on every outing. It contained, amongst the usual medical requirements, a supply of clotting factors and vitamin K to cover such events as this.
‘Do we know which factor Baden needs?’ Fiona asked.
‘Type A,’ Baden told her.
‘There are notes in the bag.’ Tom fingered Morgan’s head, then reached into the bag for vials of Vitamin K, handed one to Fiona.
Baden didn’t seem at all perturbed by the sudden turn of events. ‘I’m used to it,’ he said in reply to Fiona’s query about how he felt. ‘It was an accident anyway.’
‘Let me check you out first, okay?’ Her fingers were moving carefully over his arm. Within minutes both boys were back on their feet, laughing and teasing each other over who had the biggest bruise as they headed to the changing room.
Tom tried to relax. But inside he was winding up tighter and tighter. The boys were so unconcerned about the whole thing. Didn’t they understand the seriousness of any little knock?
Fiona spoke quietly beside him. ‘Baden’s right. It was an accident.’
‘It still shouldn’t have happened.’
Her fingers brushed his hand at his side. ‘Their parents probably spend a lot of time trying to create a normal life for them, while at the same time worrying themselves sick about accidents. The kids have come here for a wonderful experience and that’s what they’re having.’ Her hand gently squeezed his as she continued. ‘You’ve done that for them. By the nature of their condition there’s already plenty of discipline in their lives. With what you’re doing here you’re giving them confidence to try other things. You mustn’t take it away in the same breath.’
His hand closed around her fingers. The tension ebbed as her words sank in. Because she was right. Sometimes he worried too much. He gulped. He was their paediatrician, not their parent. Out of the blue Fiona had done that for him. The ground tilted beneath his feet, and he felt afraid. If she had the power to put him back on track so easily then what else could she do to him?
‘I’m going to change. That water might be warm but the air’s chilly.’ She tugged her hand away and turned to the women’s changing rooms before he could thank her.
He watched her avoiding skidding on the wet concrete, tugging her sopping wet tee shirt over her head as she went. Beneath the shirt she wore a bikini the shade of her eyes. His favourite colour on her. Had she remembered that? Unlikely. From behind she looked lovely, her skin translucent in the eerie overhead lighting. Her wet hair clung to her slender neck. His gaze followed her until she’d gone, lost amongst the chattering young girls charging inside out of the cold air to change.
Startled at his thoughts, Tom growled and went to change too. The rough chatter and laughter of the boys didn’t drown out the pictures crashing around in his skull. All pictures of Fiona. Of course she was different from how he remembered. Who wouldn’t be after what they’d been through? Also, six years was a long time. He saw a softness about her now that hadn’t been there before.
Face it, he couldn’t believe she’d changed that much. He didn’t trust that she might have. Once she’d proved how un-trustworthy she could be, and once was enough.
Chapter Four
TOM sat in the front seat of the bus and watched Fiona laughing and chatting with one of the mums as they came out of the pool complex. He tingled at the mere sight of her. A breath of fresh air in his harried world. She brought reminders of other things with her—things he hadn’t devoted much attention to in a long time. Family. Marriage. Plain old fun, for heaven’s sake. Occasionally he did a spot of trout fishing with Pierce, the local cop, but that was as fun as his private life got these days.
Fiona’s head popped through the bus door, her eyes searching for a seat. The one beside him beckoned. The woman behind her gave Fiona a nudge towards it, and slipped past to another spare seat.
Tom tapped his watch. ‘We’ve got a busload of starving kids here. You two want to explain to them why we’re waiting?’
Fiona rolled her eyes at him. ‘Women’s stuff. You’d never in a million years understand.’
‘Damn right. My feminine side is very undernourished. I intend keeping it that way, too.’
‘Phew. For a moment there you had me worried.’ Amusement filled her eyes as her bottom wriggled into the cramped space beside him, her hip bumping his, her thigh touching
his thigh.
His mouth dried. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his masculine side. It knew her body inside out. It wanted her body. On a bus full of shouting kids? Well, there had been a drought. Even on the rare times he had dated his response to those women hadn’t been as urgent as this. Fiona was one very sexy lady, even when she’d turned up after so long, shocking him to Hades and back.
The bus lurched forward, catching Fiona unawares, and she grabbed at his leg. Where her fingers dug in heat flared, expanded up and down his already wired body. How fickle were his hormones? He had to get control back. One, two, three, four…
‘At least my bones are warmer after that swim.’ Fiona whipped her hand away and turned to face him, creating a gap between them.
‘Bones don’t get cold.’ Was that a responding tension lurking in the corners of her eyes?
She rolled those eyes again. ‘As of today, mine do.’
‘Then I guess you won’t want to go skiing while you’re here.’
Caution tripped across her face. ‘Is that an invitation? I didn’t think I’d have time for anything much more than work.’
Was he inviting her to spend time with him? He tilted back against the side of the bus to avoid her intent gaze and thought quickly. Would he like to take her up the mountain for a ski? She didn’t know this region and it would be fun to show her around. Hang on. Wasn’t he supposed to be keeping this relationship strictly professional? ‘You’re right. There won’t be enough free hours for outdoor activities.’
Her shoulders drooped. In her lap, her fingers fiddled with the corner of her damp towel. So he’d let her down, and now he felt a heel, but better not to get too involved with her outside of the hospital.
Changing the subject, he asked, ‘Are you still a bit of a daredevil?’
The fingers stopped their fidgeting. ‘If you’re asking do I still take on the world at every opportunity, just to prove to my father that I’m as good as my brother would’ve been if he’d lived into adulthood, then no. When I fly these days it’s with caution. When I’m behind the steering wheel of a car I’m slower than an eighty-year-old.’
She’d made him angry with her recklessness. ‘I’m glad to hear you’ve quietened down. You used to worry the hell out of me.’
‘Do you have any good memories of me? Of our time together?’