His head was doing strange things.
He climbed into his truck and headed where he always headed when he needed to clear his mind.
The beach was deserted. A full moon hung in a cloudless sky. His board lay where he’d dumped it hours ago. Just as well the tide had been going out, he thought, but, then, he’d been granted a miracle and a surfboard would have been a small price to pay for Bonnie’s life.
He needed to pay…something.
The hoons in the beach buggy would pay. Zoe had got a clear view of them, the hire-car logo, even part of the number plate. Doug had already made a call to the cops.
But Zoe?
What was it about her that twisted something inside him?
‘Maybe the fact that she saved your dog?’ he said drily, out loud. ‘Maybe that’d make anyone seem special.’
But there was something about her…
A heroic run with a dog far too big for her. An anger that he’d deserved.
But more. What?
Where were his thoughts taking him?
He was trying hard to haul them back on track. Sam Webster was a man who walked alone. He’d had one disastrous relationship. He’d loved Emily, but he hadn’t been able to protect her from herself. She’d died because of it, leaving him gutted and guilty and alone.
That night replayed in his head, over and over. Emily had had a stressful day in the wards and had come home to a letter saying she’d missed a promotion. Her mood had been foul as they’d headed to the beach. There’d been a storm and the surf had been unpredictable. He’d suggested a close-to-shore swim instead of their usual surf, but Emily had been coldly determined.
‘The surf’s fine. Sure, it’s dumping but we’re experienced enough to know which waves to leave alone. I’ve had enough people telling me what I can’t do today. Surf with me, Sam, or leave me be.’
He let her be. He was fed up. In truth he’d been growing more and more fed up with Emily’s erratic mood swings and her insistence that everything be done her way. He watched Emily for a while but she’d gone far out, waiting for the perfect wave, so he and Bonnie headed along the beach to walk out their wait.
They turned just as Emily lost patience and caught a wave she must have known was dangerous.
He remembered yelling. He remembered seeing Emily rise, catching the beginning of the curving swell, and he remembered seeing her look towards the beach, towards him. She waved and her wave was almost triumphant.
And then the wave sucked her high, curled and tossed her onto the sandbank with a force that even today made him shudder.
Enough. Don’t think about it. That had been five years ago. Surely the memory should have faded by now. And what was he doing, thinking of it tonight?
Because he’d met Zoe?
This was crazy. Where his thoughts were taking him was just plain weird. She was just another woman and there were plenty of women in his life. Half his colleagues were female. He had his mother, his sisters, his workmates, and for years their position in his life had been carefully compartmentalised.
Zoe…the way he was feeling…it didn’t fit.
Maybe it was because he owed her, he decided. He did owe her, big time, and Sam Webster always paid his debts.
Her car was a wreck.
Excellent. His mind cleared. He had a way to pay his debt and move on.
And he needed to move on, because for some reason it felt really important that he stop thinking about Zoe Payne. He needed to pay the debt and get her out of his mind.
ZOE SLEPT FITFULLY, waking during the night to flashbacks—to dune buggies crashing down, to Sam’s haunted face, to the thoughts of the mess in her car. She slept enough to function, however. Uniformed and professional, she hit the wards with determined cheer—and found she was a minor celebrity.
She’d been at Gold Coast City for almost a week. Her new colleagues had been friendly enough but she still felt very much an outsider. This morning, though, Ros, the ward clerk, met her with a beaming smile and practically boomed her welcome.
‘Here she is, our Zoe the lifesaver. You’ve saved our Bonnie!’
‘Our Bonnie?’ she said faintly.
‘Everyone in the hospital loves Bonnie,’ Ros told her. ‘When she’s not surfing with Sam, she comes in as a companion dog. We use her for the oldies or for distressed kids. If Sam tells her to stay with a needy patient she treats them as her new best friend until Sam comes to pick her up again. I can’t tell you how many patients she’s calmed and comforted. And the hoons nearly killed her.’
Her face lost its beam and creased in distress. ‘Of all the…well, never mind, we heard the cops have already charged them. The report from the vet half an hour ago said Bonnie’s on the mend, and Sam says to tell you he left your purse downstairs in the safe in Admin for you to collect when you go off duty. How lucky was it that you were there? Callie says you saved her.’
‘I was glad to help,’ Zoe muttered, embarrassed, and headed to changeover fast, only to be met with more congratulations and thanks.
It went on all day. She was tired, she was still feeling fragile, but by the time her shift ended she seemed to be best friends with everyone in the hospital.
At three she was done. Yay, Friday. The weekend stretched before her, and even fatigue didn’t stop it seeming endless with possibilities. Her first weekend here. Her first time alone.
It felt fantastic.
She walked down to Admin to collect her purse, and hummed as she hit the lifts. Last night had been horrible, but the outcome looked good. This job seemed great. She’d been rostered onto the paediatric ward for older kids. She’d been run off her feet all day—which she loved—and somehow what had happened last night seemed to have made her accepted as a part of the Gold Coast team faster than she’d thought possible.
She had an almost irresistible urge to ring Dean and gloat.
How childish was that? She grinned, the doors of the lift opened at the administration floor—and Sam Webster was waiting for her.
Sort of.
This was a different Sam Webster.
Last night he’d looked every inch a surfer. Now he looked every inch a cardiologist.
He must have been consulting rather than operating, she thought, dazed. He was wearing the most beautiful suit—Italian, she thought, and then wondered wryly what she would know about Italian suits. But the sleek, blue, pinstriped suit looked like it was moulded to him. His shirt was crisp, white, expensive-looking, and the only hint that he worked with
