a blessed childhood. His father had left Shallow Bay early—‘I can’t stand the sight of blood—there’s no way I could have done medicine.’ He’d done law, been hugely successful, moved into politics and then into international diplomacy. His mother’s career was equally impressive. Tom’s arrival had been an accident—they’d been too busy to have children—but in the end they’d welcomed him. They were a power couple but their love for their only son had been unstinting.
As his grandparents’ love had been. Tom had had the run of embassies, of political powerhouses, and of Shallow Bay. He’d learned languages, he’d studied, he’d surfed, he’d dated gorgeous women, he’d had fun.
He’d also rescued things. Anything. Beetles lying upside down on wet paths. Unwanted kittens. Bullied kids at school.
He couldn’t bear to see hurt, even though sometimes caring caused chaos.
Like the time he’d brought a huntsman spider home, a female, laden with a huge egg sac. He’d found it at the back of the lockers at school, missing two legs, and decided to rehome it in the laundry. He’d forgotten to tell his mother—who’d found about a thousand baby spiders in her clean washing.
Like the first time he’d seen Claire, being yelled at by her father as she was dropped off at infant school.
Like the time Claire had phoned him after her diagnosis. ‘Please, Tom, help me…’
Was the same drive to fix things attracting him to Rachel? He’d always been a sucker for the needy. He knew it.
‘It’s just the way you’re made,’ he told himself. ‘It’s in your DNA. So leave it. Rachel doesn’t need you. She’s tough and she’s bright and she’ll do what it takes to get on in life. You do the same.’
It made sound sense.
So why did a niggle of doubt tell him that life was about to get more complicated?
THE WEEK THAT followed was busy but not frantic—thanks to Rachel. Her efficiency might set some patients’ backs up, it might make Tom edgy, but there was no doubting that it lowered his workload.
Heather Lewis, breeder of Hereford cattle, president of the local Country Women’s Association and stander of no nonsense, met him in the car park late on Friday. He’d just returned from a house call. Heather sauntered over to meet him, a big woman, bluff, kind, bossy. Ready to gossip.
‘She’s good, isn’t she?’ she said without preamble.
‘You mean Rachel?’
‘I’ve just been to see her for my foot. Fungal infection. She gave me a script, instructions and a lecture about wearing wet boots. In and out in five minutes. That’s my kind of medicine.’
‘Hmm,’ he said doubtfully. It was the kind of medicine Heather liked, and mostly it was what people needed, but how many consultations were that easy?
‘And she’s here for two years. We need to get her involved. Does she play tennis? Ride a horse? Play mah-jong? I tried asking but she brushed me off. Fair enough, it was a medical consult after all. But what’s she interested in, Tom? How can we pull her into the community?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said faintly. ‘She seems to like keeping herself to herself.’
‘But she’s there when you need her. It was trial by fire, landing her with your boys last week. She must be a good’un. Worth prodding below the surface.’
‘I guess.’
‘And she’s single,’ Heather went on relentlessly. ‘There’s a thought, Doc. You and her… You could surely use help with those boys. You still got Kit in hospital?’
‘He’ll be home tomorrow.’
‘They’re a handful. A partner would be good. You might want to think about it.’ And Heather drove away and left him standing.
Think about what?
Rachel?
A love life?
Ha.
Even if he had the time for such things—which he didn’t—even if there was a possibility of dating when he was solely responsible for the care of three troubled kids… Rachel? An uptight, self-contained woman who’d stepped in when needed but who’d stepped away fast.
As any woman would from his situation.
But the niggle he’d felt almost a week ago was growing, and as he walked back into the hospital he allowed himself a moment to think about it. Rachel Tilding was about as far from his type of woman as it was possible to get. BK—Before Kids—he’d had a definite kind of partner. Not serious—never serious. He liked feisty, fun women who didn’t take life too seriously. Women who could give as much as they got, who demanded no promises, who didn’t cling, who were happy to step into his world and then out again as life called them in a different direction.
There didn’t seem a lot of joy in Rachel Tilding’s world. Life seemed serious. Organised.
He put the idea firmly aside, heading in to walk through the wards and say hi to everyone who’d appreciate a visit. There wasn’t much for him to do medically. Rachel had obviously done her rounds earlier. Charts had been filled in. Every need had been met.
Except talking. He talked his way round the hospital now, calming worries, explaining, listening. Just being there.
His final visit for the day was Kit. Tom had been in a few times during the day, as much as he could manage. Now he found him engrossed in a battleship conflict. His friend, Xavier, was still in the next bed. There’d been no pressure on the ward, so the decision had been made to keep them longer. They were both due to go home in the morning.
Tom got a short greeting between battles—plus a quick, one-armed hug which was a message on its own. Kit might be content for the moment, but he was still needy.
Finally he headed home. From the track he could see Rose in her favourite seat. She’d be knitting while the kids watched the telly show they always watched on Friday nights. He’d go in, say goodnight to Rose and then cook his standard Friday night fare of hamburgers.
And try not to miss Friday nights of the past. Socialising. Fun.
Suddenly he was hesitating. Rachel’s arrival really had made a difference. It was only five-thirty, far earlier than he usually finished. The ingredients for hamburgers were in the fridge and Rose would enjoy putting them together. She liked eating with the boys. It was a warm night. The beach beckoned.
He could use some me time.
Ten minutes later he’d headed back to town and bought two low-alcohol beers—he was on call. A sunset, a beer, time to reflect—it wasn’t up to the standard of Friday nights of his past, but it’d have to do.
He parked outside his cottage. Rose saw him from the window. He waved towards the beach, put his finger
