From Bachelor to Daddy Page 7

  ‘Nice bloke?’ her father asked, so casually Emma had to smile.

  ‘Nice enough,’ she said, ‘but that’s all. Besides which, he’s a patient.’

  She sighed, and sat down on a corner stump that held the sleepers for the raised beds in place.

  ‘Simon was so special, Dad, it’s hard to get interested in someone else.’

  Laughing blue eyes notwithstanding, she added silently.

  ‘Do you ever think that Simon might have been so special because you had so little time together? Your marriage was still fresh and wonderful; still full of new experiences like getting to know each other, sharing tales about your lives, making plans for the future, and building dreams together.’

  Emma looked at the man who’d left the work he’d loved at fifty so he could be with her during the weeks before Simon’s death. Just there, in the background—ready to support her when she needed it and to hold her when the knowledge that she was losing Simon became too much to bear.

  Been there, too, for the extra sadness that had followed it but she pushed that thought away, not wanting to remember her emotional and physical collapse.

  He’d done some supply teaching when she’d returned to work, but he’d been there for her whenever she’d needed him, needed someone to comfort her—to just be there...

  ‘I don’t know, Dad,’ she said, finally coming around to considering his question. ‘You might be right. But I do know I’ll never love like that again.’

  Her father kept on digging, and a cry from the house told her one of the boys was awake—and no doubt intent on waking his brother.

  ‘I’ll go. And I know I’ve said I’ll be on deck for the kids at weekends, but I’m afraid I’ve got a winch training session tomorrow. We’re starting early so hopefully I’ll be home for lunch. Did you have anything planned?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t do with the boys. Carrie asked us all up for lunch so I’ll go on ahead and you can join us if you get home in time. I’ve got the address in the house. Will give it to you later.’

  Which kind of finished that conversation.

  But was Dad right?

  Had her marriage been so special—her love so strong—because it had been cut short?

  Because they hadn’t had time to grow niggly with each other over squeezed toothpaste tubes—although Simon had always been practically fanatical about squeezing from the bottom, whereas she just squeezed from wherever got the toothpaste out the quickest.

  Hmm...

  * * *

  The morning dawned fearsomely bright with the promise of a still day, light winds forecast for the afternoon.

  With any luck, they’d be home by afternoon, Marty decided, but would that be all good?

  Carrie had phoned to invite him to lunch and insisted he come after the training session, however late that might be.

  ‘I’ve asked Ned and Emma and the boys, but I guess she’ll be out with you, being hauled up and down in your practising. But do come.’

  Because you don’t really want to be with just Ned for too long, or because you’re doing a bit of unsubtle match-making between Emma and me? Marty wondered.

  Surely not? Carrie knew his views on commitment and marriage and she’d be the first to realise that Emma needed both.

  But the sun was bright and he left all thoughts of later behind as he headed out to the base. Shane had agreed they could use his property and Marty would fly all the staff out there, then share the hovering duties with Matt.

  Mark, Dave and Emma all arrived at the same time, only minutes after he’d driven in, Matt arriving close behind them.

  ‘Okay, flight suits and helmets on, all of you,’ he said, and heard Emma groan.

  ‘Problem?’ he asked, smiling at the grimace on her face.

  ‘Only that I look like a balloon in a flight suit,’ she muttered. ‘One of those balloons clowns tie into funny shapes at kids’ parties. It’s okay for you tall people, but for us vertically challenged, it’s not much fun.’

  He grinned at her, but had to turn away to hide laughter when he saw what she meant. The suits did come in two sizes—small and large—but he knew they were for small and large men, not for diminutive women. With the ends of the legs and arms rolled up, and the belt cinched tight, she did kind of resemble a tied balloon.

  ‘And why am I the only doctor here?’ she demanded, obviously still grumpy.

  ‘You’re the only one with winch training. The others need to do the full course and somehow the hospital administration can’t seem to find the time to send even one of the other ER doctors down to Sydney for it. It’s probably why they were so happy to get you. Mac’s trained, so we’ve used him in emergencies, particularly if the incident is over towards Wetherby.’

  ‘Hmph,’ was the reply to that, but as she’d now added her helmet and was looking like a little mushroom, Marty busied himself with the chopper.

  No way was he going to tangle with a grumpy mushroom!

  ‘We’re going to a property out of town, with a good gully,’ he explained when they were all ready. ‘I’ll land you as close as I possibly can, then you’ll have to walk in—’

  ‘Or roll in Emma’s case,’ Dave said, and Emma laughed and punched him lightly on the arm.

  They had the makings of a really good team, Marty realised, pleased to be distracted from images of a laughing mushroom.

  ‘I was going to say, so you can get some idea of the lie of the land. Dave and Mark can stay with me, and Mark can do the first fast response drop when you find a good spot. Matt’ll sort out the order for the rest of the practice.’

  Once in the air, Dave gave Matt the co-ordinates of the gully, and Marty watched as Matt tapped them into his GPS. Ten minutes’ flying and he could see Shane’s big four-wheel drive parked beside a dam. He landed close by, introduced his crew—Emma pulling off her helmet rather self-consciously he thought.

  ‘Okay,’ Matt said, ‘let’s go, kids. Dave, you act as winch man for Mark, and, Dave, you can do it for me later.’

  Emma and Shane followed Matt into the gully, Shane walking beside Emma, who tried desperately to pretend this was just a nice little bushwalk. But the thought of the winch, added to her embarrassment of the unflattering flight suit, was making it difficult to follow Shane’s polite conversation.

  Though she did learn he kept a thousand head of cattle on his property, mostly breeding cows. The calves he sold off as weaners at about eight months for other people to fatten into steers.

  At least that’s what she figured from a long, slow conversation that included calving percentages, heifers kept to replace breeding cows, and the problems of getting recalcitrant cattle into cattle trucks.

  Matt had signalled to the aircraft and Mark was already on his way down on the winch wire.

  ‘You’re up first,’ Matt told Emma, and although she’d volunteered to go first, now the time had come she rather wished she hadn’t.

  Nonsense, she told herself. You’ve done it dozens of times—you’re good at it.

  Mark had reached the ground and unsnapped his harness, handing it to Emma.

  ‘You needn’t go right into the aircraft. Just strap yourself in, signal you’re ready for the winch and Dave will lift you as far as the skids, then drop you back down. Hopefully you’ll stay clear of the trees.’

  A huge grin had accompanied the last words, and Emma glared at him as she fixed her helmet back in place and took the harness from Mark, adjusting it to her size before climbing into it and strapping in securely. She signalled to lift and up she went, reminding herself again she’d done it dozens of times, and that from what she’d seen of Marty he was an excellent pilot so would hold the aircraft in hover mode as still as he possibly could.

  ‘Okay?’ Dave called down to her as she rose above the trees.

  ‘Just fine,’ she assured him, e
ven venturing a small wave.

  He helped her onto the skids, checked she was okay, then down she went, only too happy to be back on firm ground again.

  ‘Don’t unhitch, Marty wants you to do a patient lift.’ Dave’s voice came through the helmet communication and as everyone was listening she could hardly screech and yell about it.

  Matt was handing Shane his helmet.

  ‘I’m lifting Shane?’ she couldn’t help but yell.

  * * *

  Matt laughed.

  ‘You’re not lifting him, the winch is,’ he reminded her, handing her the strop she would fit around the chest of this total stranger, before clipping him onto her harness. In this way, snapped together, they would be lifted off the ground.

  Helmet to helmet, face to face, body to body.

  And Shane had the hide to be grinning at her as if he was enjoying himself! It was like sharing a sleeping bag with a complete stranger, only worse because she knew all the crew would be laughing about it to themselves.

  She checked all the clips and safety clasps were in place, then signalled with hand and voice that they were ready. Fortunately, their height difference—and Shane’s broad shoulders—ensured she was looking at his chin, not directly into his eyes. She shifted the helmet mic away from her mouth and muttered, ‘This is so embarrassing,’ but she doubted he heard as they were brushing past the foliage of the trees.

  In fact, he was looking all around him, as if this was a wonderful experience, put on purely so he could see this little bit of his property from a different angle.

  ‘Lowering now.’

  She sighed with relief at Mark’s order. Apparently, they didn’t have to go right into the aircraft for this lift either.

  What she hadn’t realised was that Shane’s feet would touch the ground first, and he’d automatically put his hands out to steady her as she came down, holding her so close that embarrassment flooded through her.

  Maybe the boys didn’t need a father, she decided when she’d unhooked, taken off her helmet, and moved a little away from the men so she could recover her composure.

  Uncomfortable, that’s how she’d felt.

  Uneasy, too...

  But surely she wouldn’t feel like that with all men who touched her, no matter how platonically.

  Besides which, the other part of her search for a man—what search?—had been to free up her father so he could have a life, because she knew full well he’d never leave her to cope with the boys on her own.

  Considering how much he’d already given up for her, the very least she could do was look for a man.

  And if she fell in love?

  She looked around at the surrounding trees, aware deep inside herself she feared losing herself in love again, while knowing she couldn’t cheat a man by not offering it.

  The practice continued, Matt and Mark lifting, the helicopter landing and Matt taking over as pilot while Dave and Marty practised.

  Shane had settled beside Emma on a fallen log and had been regaling her with tales of bringing the young cattle in to be ear-tagged and, in the case of the young steers, castrated.

  It all sounded particularly nasty to Emma, but Shane’s enthusiasm was so great she suspected he thought she was as fascinated as he was by the subject of cattle. He was telling a particularly grisly tale of having to use the tractor to haul a dead calf out of an exhausted cow when Marty called to her.

  She leapt to her feet and hurried towards him, so thankful for the interruption she could have hugged him.

  Until he told her why she was wanted.

  ‘Your turn to be the patient,’ he informed her, and as he was still in his harness she knew just who was going to do the lift.

  Not that being held close against Marty meant any more than being held close against Shane...

  Not really...

  Of course it didn’t.

  He was tightening the strop before dropping it over her head, tightening it again under her arms, clipping them together.

  ‘Okay?’ he said, his smiling face and teasing blue eyes so close they could have kissed.

  Except their helmets would have bumped together and anyway she didn’t want to kiss Marty.

  Definitely didn’t want to kiss Marty.

  Marty was the last man on earth she should consider kissing...

  Would consider kissing!

  ‘I said are you ready?’

  His voice pierced the tumble of confusion in her head.

  But it didn’t clear the mess enough for her to speak.

  She made do with a nod—bang onto his helmet—and closed her eyes because she knew he’d be laughing at her.

  ‘Lifting now,’ she heard Mark say, and kept her eyes closed because she really didn’t like to look down—or even up—and for this lift she didn’t have to, as Marty was in charge.

  They reached the skids and Mark and Marty helped her in. Her head cleared and she hoped she wasn’t blushing at the thoughts she’d had. Marty hadn’t chosen her to lift, but was simply getting all the crew back on board. The winch wire and harness were already going back down for Dave, and peering out cautiously Emma realised Shane was back in his vehicle, bouncing his way across the fields towards the homestead.

  Yet some wilful thread of disappointment wound its way into Emma’s brain—Marty hadn’t chosen her.

  And why should he have?

  No answer, any more than there was to the even more personal question of whether he’d felt what she’d felt, clipped so close their bodies had been touching.

  Had the sudden warmth of her body transmitted itself to his?

  Or had it been his that had warmed hers...?

  * * *

  Had he chosen Emma to lift for personal reasons?

  Definitely not, he told himself as he settled back into his seat, quite happy for Matt to fly them home, as he really needed to think.

  It had been a mistake, of course. He’d known that the instant he’d tightened the strop around her. Given their situations, and the weird sensations he was experiencing in her vicinity, clipping her up against his body was the last thing he’d needed. It was feeling her softness despite all the harnesses and flying suits. It was catching the woman-scent of her, and seeing the clear, pale skin on her cheeks colouring slightly—with embarrassment?—and the dark, slightly curling lashes that framed her eyes.

  He knew women, by some mysterious process, did curl their lashes, but he rather doubted, with the boys to be got up and fed before she’d left for the exercise, she’d have had time to curl her lashes this morning.

  If she ever did.

  Somehow he thought of Emma as a ‘take me as you see me’ kind of woman, rather than the eyelash-curling type—

  But what did he know?

  She was as much a mystery to him as she had been when he’d first met her.

  Oh, he knew bits of her story, knew she was a loving mother to her boys, knew how much she relied on her father. Apart from that, he suspected she felt guilty about her reliance on her father, and would like to free him up in some way.

  But would her father move on—and out—and leave her to cope on her own?

  He doubted it.

  ‘We’re home, flyboy!’ Dave said. ‘Can’t take the early morning start, eh?’

  The rest of the crew were already climbing out, Emma in the lead and almost at the equipment shed.

  He smiled to himself.

  She’d want to get out of the flying suit as quickly as possible, given how much it embarrassed her. Another little insight into this woman who, for some reason, was occupying far too much of his thinking time.

  And would be occupying even more of it over lunch...

  ‘I’ll see you at Carrie’s,’ he said, as she left the shed he was entering.

  She gave him such a startled loo
k he had to add, ‘You are coming, aren’t you? Carrie was furious when I told her about the winch practice and I had to promise her I’d have you back in time for lunch.’

  She frowned at him.

  ‘You’re going to Carrie’s for lunch too?’ she demanded, sounding so put out he had to smile.

  ‘Well, she is my sister,’ he reminded her, causing the frown to turn into a scowl as she hurried away from him.

  * * *

  He was right, of course. Carrie was his sister, and he possibly had lunch with her every Sunday, but right now she wished he wasn’t going. Or, failing that, that she could somehow cry off.

  But she could hardly not go—it would be rude. When he turned up Carrie would know the exercise was over. Besides which, she really wanted to go, mainly so she could play with the boys and let her father catch up with his old friend.

  She drove home in a daze, her mind once again such a mish-mash of thoughts it was impossible to untangle them.

  Her father, the boys, a ball-kicking man, Marty—no, Marty definitely didn’t fit into the slot—Carrie and her father, and what to wear to lunch, though why she was worrying about that minor detail when the rest of her life was so unsettled she had no idea.

  Jeans and a top—there, that was one worry gone. She had that nice blue top she’d bought before leaving Sydney—perhaps not with jeans but her white slacks. White slacks when she’d be out with the boys? No, definitely jeans—

  ‘We waited for you so we’d only have to take one car,’ her father said as she walked up onto the veranda where the boys were explaining to the ever-patient dog that he had to stay and guard the house, although Xavier, Mr Persistent, was saying, ‘But Molly and Mandy would love to see him.’

  She left her father to sort out the dog and hurried through the house to shower and dress. The green top her friend Sally had given her might look better with the jeans...

  Annoyed with herself for such dithering—since she’d had the boys getting dressed usually meant pulling on whatever was closest and relatively free of food stains. And even more annoyed because, although she hated to admit it, she knew it was the fact that Marty would be there that was causing the dithering.