His Runaway Nurse Page 10

  At least embarrassment was better than confusion, and with heated cheeks Majella introduced her friends.

  ‘I met Flynn yesterday,’ Helen announced. ‘We introduced ourselves. But I’d like to see the windmills working. OK if I come along as well?’

  Grace apparently approved this idea, beaming at Helen and patting her head, saying, ‘Nana!’ in a pleased voice but remaining contentedly perched on Flynn’s arm.

  Now Helen was included in the expedition, Majella could hardly object, but as she watched them walk away, Grace’s head resting trustfully on Flynn’s shoulder, uneasiness was so strong it was close to nausea roiled in her stomach and her hands shook as she handed creams and salves and soap to customers, and smiled, and took their money.

  ‘RSI,’ she said to Sophie a little later. ‘First recorded case of repetitive strain injury in the cheek muscles from smiling all the time.’

  ‘It does feel like that, but the stall’s doing really well,’ Sophie said, checking there were no customers in sight for once and giving Majella a quick hug. ‘So, what about the house?’

  Majella smiled, a real smile this time, not the one that put her in danger of getting RSI.

  ‘Your mother’s been so tactful—she hasn’t said a word—but typical teenager, you had to ask!’

  ‘Well, someone had to,’ Sophie protested. ‘You’re not exactly the most forthcoming of people, now, are you? Not into sharing your thoughts or feelings! If a person didn’t ask you stuff, she’d never learn anything. So what are you thinking?’

  Majella considered the question for a moment, then answered honestly.

  ‘The honest truth is I can’t afford it. Whether there’s another house here I can afford, or whether I really want to settle here if I can’t have that house, I don’t know. I don’t seem to be able to think clearly about any of it.’

  ‘You can’t afford a house that should have been yours anyway?’ Sophie’s voice betrayed her opinion of such injustice. ‘That’s ridiculous. So what next?’

  ‘I can’t decide—can’t seem to make a decision at all,’ Majella admitted, and Sophie gave her a quick hug.

  ‘Mental block?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Majella told her, although she knew it wasn’t anything to do with the house that she couldn’t think about it, but to do with Flynn and the way thoughts of him were consuming all her brain cells, and causing hot and bothersome problems in her other cells as well.

  Maybe thinking about the house was a good idea—thinking about a house, any house—and the independence she was seeking. She searched inside herself for the impetus that had driven this return to Parragulla but it had apparently been consumed by the heat she’d been experiencing.

  ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ she muttered to herself, realising how easily she’d become distracted from her plan—how easily she’d drifted off course.

  Flynn only half listened to Helen’s chat as they made their way towards the marquee housing the technical exhibits. Only this time his distraction wasn’t caused by memories of the kiss he’d shared with Majella the previous evening but by the soft, cuddly bundle of charm on his arm—by the trusting arms clasping him, and the sweet baby scent of the feathery curls that tickled his chin.

  Why had he picked the child up?

  And having done so, why was he walking through the showground with her?

  He’d been trying to find Majella since the old man had died—or since he’d learned the contents of the old man’s will—but having found her, why had things become so difficult? This question of marriage. A brief phone call to the solicitor had failed to approve Flynn’s contention that having been married would qualify Majella to inherit the house.

  He tried to think logically about the situation. Her husband had been dead three years. She could well have a new man in her life. There was a month before the old man’s deadline. She could get married again.

  But as she’d already objected to the manipulation inherent in the condition, would she marry to satisfy it? He doubted it. Although she didn’t know the rest of it—about the money that came with the house, or the money in trust for this happy child he held in his arms and in trust for future children Majella might have.

  Would she be stubborn enough to deny her children money that would secure their futures?

  The thought of her having more babies caused nearly as much inner discomfort as the thought of her having a man in her life had only minutes earlier.

  But forgetting that and getting back to the will, the fact remained he had to talk to her.

  They’d both been busy, he excused himself as guilt that he hadn’t mentioned more about the will swamped through him. Worst time of the year, festival time, but as Majella’s child nuzzled his neck and whispered, ‘Man!’ into his ear, he knew there was more to it than being busy.

  Seeing Majella again had spun him into some limbo between the past and present, while kissing Majella had—well, the only way he could think to phrase it was that it had blown his mind.

  Done equally traumatic stuff to the rest of his body as well…

  ‘You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?’ Helen demanded, as they drew close to the windmill stall and Grace began to crow with delight at the moving model.

  ‘Not really,’ he admitted, and she gave him the kind of look he usually got from Belle, or his mother, or one of his sisters.

  ‘I was asking about the house. Majella says it’s far too expensive for her to buy. I have a little money put by—maybe I could help. But it would have to be between the two of us—if she knew I was offering it, she’d get back on this independent thing and refuse.’

  Now Helen had his full attention, or almost full attention. The little bundle of delight in his arms had captured part of it.

  He knew he shouldn’t have picked her up!

  ‘It’s actually been left to her but with conditions,’ he said to Helen, concentrating on his reply because there was a lot of confusion in his head. ‘It should be hers anyway. The problem is there’s a time limit for passing it over, and if that’s not met, it’s to be auctioned. We’ve been searching for her for eleven months without success. With the time limit approaching, we had to advertise the auction. I did wonder if perhaps the auction ads might bring her back, even though other pleas for information had failed.’

  ‘Well, we were coming for the festival, but the ads did attract her attention,’ Helen asked. ‘And now she’s here?’

  He looked blankly at her and received another incredulous look.

  ‘You must have had some reason for wanting her back in town,’ Helen prompted.

  ‘So I could explain about the will,’ Flynn said.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Disbelieving look this time, making Flynn realise he’d never actually analysed his reasons for his mad search for Majella. Up front, yes, he was executor of the will, so it was his duty, but the search had become an obsession with him and he didn’t think he could blame his executorial duties for that.

  Best he ignore Helen’s taunt.

  ‘Look, Gracie! See how the little arms go round.’

  He knelt and set the little girl on the ground, keeping his hands protectively close to her, ready to stop any sudden move towards the slowly turning models, concentrating on the child, not the churning thoughts Helen’s probing had stirred up in his head.

  ‘And have you talked to her about it? Properly? Sat down and discussed it with her?’

  Typical woman, Helen had no intention of letting the subject drop, although she’d been diverted for a short time by the salesman giving her literature on the efficacy of wind power.

  ‘I told her about the conditions,’ Flynn said, lifting Grace who’d lost interest in the windmills and looked ready to take off through the forest of legs in front of the display. ‘Well, some of them.’

  ‘Conditions?’

  Helen sounded startled enough for Flynn to realise Majella hadn’t mentioned the conditions to her friend.

 
‘It’s complicated,’ Flynn said. ‘But there’s been so much going on we haven’t had a proper talk.’

  ‘Why not take her out to dinner and discuss it, then?’ Helen suggested, and, as Grace distracted him with wet kisses on his cheek, he found himself saying yes, he thought he would, though the surge of joy he felt was immediately squelched when Helen added, ‘Not that she’ll take kindly to conditions set by that man, her grandfather. For Majella, this whole return to Parragulla deal is about independence, and if he’s tied her to him somehow, she’d hate that. Sophie and I would love to have her and Grace stay with us for ever, but Majella feels she’s leant on us for far too long. And though that’s not true, I do understand her need to prove something to herself.’

  ‘Surely she’s proved herself often enough during her army career?’ Flynn protested.

  ‘Proved herself an efficient officer and an efficient medic, yes, but as a person? She always said her childhood was perfect training for the army, with her autocratic grandfather, the rules and regulations of boarding school, and bossy Flynn giving her orders all the time.’

  ‘Bossy Flynn?’ Flynn questioned, but Helen only smiled at him.

  They’d arrived back at the stall, where Majella was explaining to a group of schoolchildren about the network of volunteers that kept the Native Animal Rescue Service going.

  ‘Flynn wants you to have dinner with him tonight,’ Helen announced, forestalling any idea on Flynn’s part to back out of the date. ‘Sophie and I will be happy to mind Grace.’

  ‘You’ve been minding Grace ever since we arrived,’ Majella protested as the schoolchildren departed, clutching bumper stickers and information leaflets.

  ‘That’s one of the reasons we came,’ Helen reminded her, and for the first time since the conversation had begun, Majella looked directly at Flynn.

  ‘Do you always get someone else to do your asking?’ she murmured, her tone teasing, although he could see tension in the way she stood and hear it in the sharpness of her own voice.

  Flynn put Grace down on the ground and watched her run, arms outstretched, towards her mother.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about a number of things—business things,’ he said to her, then held out his hands in supplication. ‘Would you please have dinner with me tonight?’

  Would she? Majella wondered. Should she?

  Dinner meant night-time and right now the full moon came along with darkness. It wasn’t moon madness Majella feared but the enhancing effect of moonlight on romance—although Flynn’s invitation had definitely been practical, not romantic.

  And practically speaking, she needed to sort out some things with Flynn—he’d mentioned other conditions in the will…

  ‘OK, what time and where? I’ll meet you. That way, if you get called out I can get myself home.’

  He seemed startled, as if the last thing he’d expected had been her acquiescence. She smiled, pleased she’d startled him.

  ‘Eight would be good. There’s a top restaurant, Rosem—’

  He stopped halfway through the word, frowned at her, then shrugged.

  ‘Come to dinner at my place. You’re right about the possibility of being called out. But if we’re at my place you can stay and finish your meal in your own time, and it won’t be as bad as being left like a shag on a rock in the middle of the restaurant.’

  Shag on a rock in the middle of a restaurant?

  Mixed metaphors?

  But she kind of knew what he meant.

  ‘Where’s your place? As executor, are you living at Parragulla House? It looked well cared for.’

  He was frowning at her as if she should know, and she tried to remember if she had noticed any signs of habitation. As far as she could recall, it had felt empty and abandoned, but she’d been thrown by Flynn’s presence, so…

  ‘No, but a housekeeper goes in every week. I bought a place up near the hospital. From the showground, you go out to the main road then first turn to the left. Mine’s the place at the end of the road.’

  Which didn’t really explain the frown, but Majella nodded, then, feeling Grace growing heavy in her arms, she assured him she’d find it and excused herself to put the little one down for a sleep.

  Flynn walked away, curiously dissatisfied with the arrangement, wishing he could take Majella somewhere special, somewhere like Rosemary’s, which was the best restaurant in town, but given he’d taken Rosemary out a few times since she’d shifted to Parragulla, and he knew, as far as she was concerned, they were dating, he could hardly take another woman there.

  Rosemary!

  There had been too many Rosemary’s in his life. Attractive, intelligent, vibrant women with whom he’d enjoyed pleasant, at times even exciting relationships. But though he would no longer put his reluctance to marry in the words Majella had recited to him, the doubts and cynicism about wedded bliss, or even wedded harmony, must still be there, ingrained deep within him, because all of the relationships had fizzled out, lacking sufficient impetus to take the next step towards commitment.

  Lacking sufficient passion?

  Where had that word come from?

  It was lust raked heat through a man’s body from time to time—not passion…

  He wandered aimlessly through the marquee. He was dithering—he who never dithered…

  He turned around and walked back towards the Nature’s Wonders stall. He’d talk to Majella now about the will, take her and Grace for a walk out behind the marquees, somewhere quiet, and explain it all. That way tonight could be…

  A date?

  Customers still crowded around the stall, and Flynn guessed a lot of the questions they were asking were about Majella and personal. She seemed pale and he waited until she’d finished serving an older woman, then beckoned to her.

  ‘Hey, Doc! Fancy seeing you here!’ Paul Blair, a recent recruit to the ambulance service—a local who even as a child had been a cocky little bugger—greeted Flynn then turned towards Majella who was approaching the pair of them on the other side of the counter. ‘And who’s your pretty friend? Don’t tell me this is the long-lost heiress? Wow! She’s not a dog at all! Are you going to marry her? Does Rosemary know?’

  Flynn stared at the young man in disbelief, then realised he was probably paraphrasing whatever gossip was all over town. He knew no one in the solicitor’s office would have talked of the conditions of the will, but information seemed to leak out by osmosis.

  By the time he’d found some stern words about gossiping to say to the young man, Paul had disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘Why would he ask if you were going to marry me?’ Majella demanded in a husky whisper, leaning over the counter towards Flynn while her eyes followed Paul as he moved away. ‘Does the whole town know about that stupid will?’

  ‘They shouldn’t. That kind of thing is confidential, but somehow bits and pieces leak out, usually all wrong,’ Flynn said helplessly. ‘Small country town talk—it’s like Chinese whispers!’

  But he could see from her frown she wasn’t satisfied. Which was all the more reason to talk to her now.

  But this idea was foiled by the musical notes of his mobile, and he lifted it to his ear to hear a summons to the hospital.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said to Majella. ‘I’ll see you later. Eightish?’

  Majella watched him go, her mind on the conversation.

  Why had that lad asked Flynn if they’d be marrying? Presumably people had heard about the ‘happy marriage’ clause in the old man’s will. Were they assuming that Flynn, as executor, would have the best chance of marrying her for the house? Or was there some other condition she didn’t know about? She wouldn’t have put it past her grandfather to have specified a particular husband—or type of husband—but doubted he’d have wanted his disappointing granddaughter to marry Flynn, a boy the old man had always held in high esteem.

  Or was it just that Flynn was still single? That with her return, the town was imagining he’d been carrying the pain of
lost love in his heart?

  As if!

  Although now the words ‘lost love’ were bouncing up and down in her head. Could that be what was wrong with her—what had made her love for Jeff caring, warm, and companionable but not abuzz with passion?

  Puzzling over passion—did it even exist?—she made her way back to the stall.

  Shivering when she remembered last night’s kiss.

  Did passion make you shiver?

  Flynn drove up to the hospital, his mind darting from one thought to another, concentration difficult, although it didn’t take much brain power to read the most recent obs on Mrs Warren. An infection, almost inevitable in burns, had set in, and he had to change the antibiotics she was getting in her drip, strengthening the dose and adding a second infection fighter to the mix.

  He checked the wounds, wondering if he’d need to take the skin off one of them, then deciding he’d leave it to see if the change in the drug regime worked.

  As he was at the hospital, he’d walk through and check how everyone was.

  Hopefully, the few patients who were in residence would all be well, and no emergency calls would disturb his evening with Majella.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NERVOUS as a teenager on a first date, Flynn looked around his living room. A small fire—it wasn’t really cool enough for a fire but it looked homely—burned in the stone hearth, and the lamps he’d lit shone pools of light, softening the bareness of the room—a cast-off lounge suite, a big recliner and a small coffee-table the sum total of its furniture.

  But the casserole simmering in the oven smelled good, and the dining table, an antique he’d bought because he’d loved it from the moment he’d set eyes on it in a shop window, set with silver and crystal, looked great.

  He was ready.

  And his hands were shaking…

  He had to get past this physical reaction to Majella—had to think of her as a friend or, better still, as an acquaintance with whom he had some business to transact. But his next glance around the living room took in the little chest—sitting in the middle of the mantelpiece above the fire, the letter tucked beneath it.