A Forever Family for the Army Doc Page 12

  ‘I want you, Iz,’ he murmured when they paused for breath. ‘My body aches for you, and I’m sure you feel the same. I know you’ve got real reservations—that you could be risking the adoption—but surely we could work that out if something happened.’

  She stopped his words with kisses, but he pulled away again, smitten by a wild idea.

  ‘We could even get married if things were dicey,’ he said, ‘and you’d have that family you thought you might get with that other doctor. Mother, father, daughter—a family.’

  Izzy sighed but this time didn’t kiss him, leaning her head against his chest instead.

  ‘You don’t want to get married,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Only because the Macphersons, or my branch of them, seem to be genetically challenged when it comes to marriage. My parents have both had plenty of practice at it—the getting married part—but don’t seem able to make it stick, and I was obviously a hopeless husband, but if it made things right for you and Nikki we could do it. It wouldn’t have to last for ever.’

  ‘Go home,’ Izzy told him, stepping backwards so she couldn’t touch him again—kiss him again—weaken...

  She didn’t add that they were just the words every woman wanted to hear—the ‘wouldn’t have to last for ever’ ones.

  As if!

  She opened the door and slipped inside, without another word to the man she’d been kissing. No way could she tell him that beyond her dream for Nikki had always been another, buried deep because for so long it had seemed impossible—a dream of love and happiness and a marriage that would last for ever...

  * * *

  Aware he’d said something wrong, Mac took himself home. Unfortunately, his disappointment at the abrupt end to the kisses wasn’t enough to cool his blood or release him from the tension the kisses had caused.

  Izzy’s body seemed to have imprinted itself on his, so he could feel her pressed against his chest, a ghost lover...

  Perhaps the nightmare was inevitable, the roar of planes, the thud of bombs landing, the explosive roar of the devastation that followed.

  And he’d mentioned marriage?

  Expected some woman to put up with the movies that mangled his head at midnight?

  His shrink had suggested a relationship might help, hence the dallying, which did seem to stop them.

  But would it work for ever?

  Could he take the chance?

  And why was he even considering it, given how hurriedly Izzy had shied away from the suggestion?

  Unable to sleep, he found solace in a book, an easy-to-read mystery he’d found in the house’s bookshelves when he’d moved in, so when sleep did come, his thoughts were turning over clues, seeking an answer to the mystery, not thinking of the past, or of a red-headed woman with skin like silk and kisses like magic.

  * * *

  No sign of Mac when Izzy went to work the next afternoon, but it was Saturday, he was off duty although probably on call.

  She hoped she didn’t need him!

  She went about her work, calmly and efficiently, spending some time with Rhia while her parents went out for a walk. The little girl had recovered so quickly Izzy was surprised Mac hadn’t discharged her so she could spend the weekend at home, but maybe he feared a relapse.

  The young man with the pins and plates in his ankle was complaining about pain, but after checking he’d had pain relief only an hour earlier, she decided it was probably boredom and found one of the ‘toys’ in the physio cupboard that would test his skill—tipping a board to get little balls to run into holes.

  It was totally frustrating and she’d only ever seen one patient do it successfully, but she knew that because it looked easy most patients, young men in particular, refused to be beaten by it, so it would occupy him for a few hours.

  And help him forget his pain...

  She caught up with paperwork, told Shan and Nikki they both looked fabulous when they popped in to show off their barn dance outfits—battered jeans, hardly unusual these days, and checked shirts, while the tattered straw hats over cute pigtails completed the look.

  ‘Behave yourself,’ she said as Nikki kissed her goodbye, not really worried that her daughter would get up to mischief. All that lay ahead!

  But as she handed over to the night shift and prepared to leave work, she was looking forward to getting home and a good night’s sleep—undisturbed by memories of kisses from a—

  Non-for-ever-and-ever man?

  Was that what she could call him?

  Definitely a non-marrying type.

  He’d spelt that out.

  So walking out the back door and hearing the whispered ‘Izzy’ sent her blood pressure soaring.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be at the dance. They’re taking bets at the nursing home on you and Frances getting together.’

  ‘They’re what?’

  Mac sounded so horrified, Izzy had to laugh.

  ‘They’re easily bored,’ she said. ‘But you should be at the dance. It’s expected of the local doctor.’

  ‘I went but you weren’t there.’

  The words tingled down Izzy’s spine.

  You can’t let him affect you, she told herself, but her body was beyond listening, especially to anything that might be common sense.

  ‘I did leave some money with Belle to buy an animal. I rather fancied the three-legged goat.’

  ‘That’s Arthur,’ Izzy responded, hoping some normal chit-chat might settle her nerves. ‘I kept him a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Lucky Arthur,’ Mac murmured, and Izzy knew no amount of chit-chat would work. Her shoulder was already leaning towards his and when he took her hand, her fingers gripped his, joining, intertwining—together...

  They walked up the hill, their immediate future as inevitable as it was unspoken. He’d seen her family at the dance, would know—because Nikki was a loudmouth—that the flat would be empty, and suddenly she didn’t want to fight this any more. She wanted him in a way she’d never felt before—never even imagined she could want someone.

  And at this moment for ever was a foreign land, it was the now, and what lay ahead, the now she wanted—needed.

  ‘It’s this way,’ she said, her voice shaking as, fingers still linked, she led him through the door...

  And into her bedroom...

  The hospital grounds were well lit so some light came through the windows, enough for Izzy to see Mac’s face as he sought her lips.

  She raised her hands and ran them through his hair, holding his head to hers—wanting, needing the kiss to last.

  His hands explored her body, her back, her breasts, passing softly over her as if to imprint her on his memory. But as the kiss deepened, the touches, hers and his, became more urgent, more demanding, her fingers tugging at his shirt so she could feel his skin, his easing open the buttons on her uniform to hold one breast in his palm.

  A brush of thumb across the nipple and she could feel it peak, moaned softly, then slid her hand between them to find his hardness.

  Restraint fled, and hands tore at clothes until they stood naked, close, not touching anywhere but with their lips. Kissing, breathing heavily, his hand between her legs now, hers holding his length in her hand.

  ‘Bed?’

  One whispered word, yet she knew he was asking, not suggesting—asking her if it was really what she wanted.

  It was to be her decision!

  ‘Bed!’ she confirmed, and they fell together, finding each other’s bodies close, touching, kissing, prolonging the anticipation, increasing the level of desire to near explosion point.

  Mac held her close, felt the moisture in the softness between her legs, heard the gasp of breath, the whisper of need—and knew this wasn’t dall
iance, though dalliances in the past had left him prepared.

  A brief pause, long enough to ensure safe sex but also to wonder why it wasn’t dalliance, why it felt different. But the moment passed, Izzy’s body arching up to his, her pleas for more, for proper contact, inflaming his desire.

  Too quickly over, lying together, panting slightly, drained but content to simply lie, touching, breathing.

  No words, but stirrings, too soon surely, but slowly now, with teasing fingers and gentle touches, they drew more pleasure from each other, until Izzy’s cry of release was echoed by his own groan of enjoyment, a confirmation of some kind, but of what, he didn’t know.

  Relaxed together, their talk was general—lovers’ talk, of pleasure given and received, widening to talk of their lives, so different, hers made great by the love of strangers, his not really settled until he’d found a home in the army.

  How had Wetherby come up?

  Later he would ask himself that question a hundred times, but it had, and they talked of the town, the locals, the incomers seeking respite from city life, the refugees rebuilding lives shattered by oppression and war.

  So for her to ask, ‘How did you come to choose the town?’ was almost inevitable, and for him to answer—no problem at all.

  She was lying on her side, pressed against his chest, held in the half-circle of his arm, her golden skin asking for the occasional kiss, a light brush of fingers—eyelids, nose, ears.

  ‘Long ago, so far back it seems like another life,’ he told her as he touched, ‘I’d just finished my degree, felt freed at last from books and studies and responsibilities. I had leave before I went back to the army, and, like a couple of million other young Aussies do every year, I went to Bali. Have you been?’

  He felt her head shake a no against his chest.

  ‘I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’

  ‘It is, a kind of magical place where the real world no longer exists—it’s all about the now, and fun, and laughter—beautiful beaches, great surf, nightclubs, and dancing, and gentle people smiling at your antics. It was so relaxing, as I said, another world, with everyone living for not even the day but for the moment.’

  Izzy had snuggled closer, and even when he continued, ‘I met a girl,’ she seemed unbothered.

  In fact, she laughed and teased, ‘Of course.’

  ‘We spent our time together—two short weeks, two Aussies having fun—until we walked into the hotel one day and one of the receptionists called out to me. “You’re Nicholas Macpherson?” she said, and when I agreed she told me that my father had been hospitalised with a major heart attack and the family wanted me back home.’

  He was remembering that time—that moment—so didn’t realise Izzy had pulled away, until in the dim light he saw she was sitting on the bed.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’ she demanded.

  Mac stared at her, puzzled by the abrupt change in the mood and by something in her voice.

  Should he make light of it?

  ‘Hey, you know me. I’m Mac—we’ve just made love. Twice.’

  ‘I meant your other name, your whole name?’

  This wasn’t light—not at all.

  Mac sat up, reaching out for her, wanting to hold her, to see her face, but she scrambled off the bed.

  ‘Izzy, what’s up?’ he asked, totally bamboozled.

  ‘Just tell me your name, your whole name!’

  He heard an edge of hysteria in the words, and responded to it.

  ‘Nicholas Edward Macpherson.’

  If he’d thought this might calm her down he was totally wrong. Instead, she scrambled around the room, picking up items of clothing and pulling them on, whispering, ‘I’ve got to go, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get out of here, I’ve got to think.’

  He stood up, found his own shorts and pulled them on, then walked tentatively towards her, touching her shoulder to calm her down.

  ‘Iz,’ he said gently, ‘you live here. It’s your place, not mine. But let me help you, tell me what the problem is. Surely there’s nothing we can’t talk about.’

  She turned away from him, shoulders slumped, pressed her head against the window pane and whispered, ‘Just go, please, just go!’

  He went, although he worried about leaving her alone.

  Should he call someone?

  Hallie?

  And tell her he’d just made passionate love to her daughter but now she seemed to have cracked?

  Hardly.

  And if there was one word that described Izzy it was sensible. She wouldn’t do anything silly.

  Would she?

  He walked down to his house, poured a whisky, and sat down with it to think.

  But where to start?

  It was his name that had upset her, but she’d always known his name.

  The Macpherson part anyway.

  He went back over the conversation and, yes, it was definitely his name that had upset her, but why...

  No amount of thinking answered that one so he sent a text, saying he was there for her and please to contact him, any time, because he really needed to know she was okay.

  No point in telling her he loved her, although somewhere along the way, maybe halfway through the whisky, it had occurred to him that that was what he felt for her.

  Love!

  Could it really be?

  It felt like love...

  A whole new kind of love...

  CHAPTER TEN

  NIKKI MAC... NIKKI MAC... The words pounded in Izzy’s head as she ran the coast path.

  Stupid really when only yesterday—was it yesterday?—the refrain had been, ‘He’s a good man...’

  But maybe she was wrong, maybe she should have asked him when he was in Bali, although the sums all added up in her head. She knew his age, and could work back to when he’d got his degree and, anyway, she knew she wasn’t wrong.

  Nikki Mac. Her sister had texted almost daily about the glory of this Nikki Mac—and of the holiday romance that had no future, although why, she’d never said. She’d been well when she’d gone, had been through a detox programme in Sydney, then given herself the holiday as a reward.

  And she’d come back clean, they’d known that, and had stayed clean for months, or so they’d thought because she’d returned straight to Sydney, at first staying with Stephen, then finding a flat and working for a web designer, her dream job.

  Until the sleaze bag, as Stephen called her on-again off-again boyfriend, had come back into the picture, tempting their fragile sister with promises of fame—singing in a night club where drugs were plentiful...

  Izzy sighed, remembering the lost soul they’d all loved so much. As well as drugs, there’d been a brush with anorexia, and episodes of cutting, so no one had been surprised that Liane, their lovely Liane, hadn’t realised she was pregnant.

  And hooked again on drugs!

  Hallie had flown to Sydney, Stephen had tried to step in, and everyone had forgotten Nikki Mac until the baby came, and with her a grubby piece of paper on which she’d asked Izzy to look after her baby, Nikki.

  Izzy’s even stride faltered and she brushed tears from her eyes.

  Now she knew, it was so obvious—Nikki’s blue eyes, the same dark, clear blue...

  She shook away the useless thoughts and ran on. She had to think, to work out what to do.

  Did she tell?

  She had to tell?

  But who first?

  Nikki?

  Izzy’s usual easy stride faltered again.

  What if Nikki chose her father...?

  What if Mac wanted her?

  Mac didn’t do for ever...

  What if Mac didn’t want her?

  Wouldn’t that be worse for Ni
kki?

  Worse than not knowing?

  Squelching down the howl of agony the thought of losing Nikki caused, Izzy pounded on.

  She wouldn’t think about it now!

  She’d think about it tomorrow...

  And having decided that, she turned and headed back towards town, forcing herself to blank out the turmoil in her head, looking at the ocean, drinking in the beauty of her surroundings, smelling the salt in the air, the faint scent of eucalyptus from the scrub, thinking nothing, nothing, nothing...

  She heard the ambulance before she saw it, and as she came over the last headland, realised it was heading down to the beach.

  A crowd of surfers, boards slung across the sand in a far too haphazard way—Nikki and Shan’s project—sharks!

  Her feet flew towards the now stationary ambulance, although she knew they’d do everything she’d be able to. She pushed through the gathering crowd, saw the anonymous figure in a full black wetsuit, one leg showing torn, lacerated fabric, skin, blood—

  ‘It’s Ahmed,’ someone told her. ‘Luckily the jet ski had been taking surfers out to the big point break and the rider saw it happen and headed straight over, frightening off the shark and bringing Ahmed in to the beach.’

  As she left the beach, Izzy took out her phone to call his family, then saw Hamid heading down from the esplanade—someone else had already called.

  So she went to the hospital instead, showered and pulled on some scrubs, coming out of the staffroom as Mac was asking the ambos to take the trolley through to the resus room.

  ‘Shark bite,’ he said to Izzy, as if this was just another day, another crisis, fully expecting her to be there to lend a hand. ‘Could you cut off his wetsuit? The pressure of it could be worsening the blood loss. Start with the arms so we can get a drip in. Abby, you set up a cannula as soon as you can.’

  They worked in silence except when Mac requested help, stripped the fit young man then laid warmed blankets over his body to help fend off shock. Mac handed tweezers to Izzy.