school?’ he asked, not because he wanted to know but for some perverse reason he wanted her to keep talking.
So he didn’t have to think about the past?
Probably, but, for whatever reason, it was weird when he considered he tuned out a lot of the conversations going on around him without any problem.
Idle chatter irritated him—although had it always?
More questions buzzing in his head! No wonder he felt unsettled…
‘Just well travelled,’ Bel—no, he had to start thinking of her as Annabelle—said.
The attendant came through to ask if anyone wanted a newspaper or magazine, but although Nick said no, Annabelle took the morning paper.
‘You don’t want to talk?’ he asked, contrarily put out that she was going to ignore him. ‘I thought this might be a good time to get better acquainted.’
She turned towards him and raised dark, expressive eyebrows.
‘We’re going to be living together for the next two months, not to mention driving huge distances together and camping out together—don’t you think we’ll have enough time then to get acquainted?’
Annabelle wasn’t sure why she was being so scratchy. Was it the shock of finding out that Nick Tempest was going to be her companion for the duration of the appointment?
Or the slightly uncomfortable feeling she’d always experienced in his presence?
Not that she knew him well—more by reputation than in person. But the reputation—playboy, womaniser, ambitious workaholic—made him the last person in the world she’d want to get to know, not to mention the least likely person in the entire hospital—if not the planet—to be on this plane, heading for a two-month stint in the far Outback settlement of Murrawalla.
The thought brought its own question.
‘Why are you here anyway? When I had my briefing, Paul Watson was coming out for this term.’
Her companion—did she call him Storm or Nick? Dr Tempest?—smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.
‘Paul’s girlfriend’s pregnant and they’ve moved the wedding forward.’
‘And you were the next bunny on the list?’ Annabelle offered, certain there was no way this particular man would have volunteered.
But his next smile suggested she was wrong. It was positively smug.
‘I volunteered.’
Annabelle just stared at him.
‘Well, didn’t you?’ he demanded.
She nodded then added, ‘But I had a reason—I wanted the extra bonus money.’
He sat further back in his seat, as if studying her from a distance might make things clearer.
‘Well, well—monetary gain not dedication and self-sacrifice? I wouldn’t have suspected that of you, Belladonna.’
‘As you don’t know me at all, you’ve no right to be making assumptions,’ Annabelle snapped, really scratchy now as the man’s arrogance shone through the sarcasm. ‘And my name is Annabelle.’
He smiled as if glad he’d riled her, adding, with smarmy insincerity, ‘Of course, that just slipped out. Annabelle! Actually, it’s quite a pretty name. Old-fashioned—’
‘Reminds you of a cow,’ Annabelle finished for him, sure he was going to add the tease she’d had to endure at high school.
But he surprised her by laughing, a low rumble of a chuckle that lit his eyes and made his rather harsh features soften.
‘Don’t be silly, we all know Christabelle’s the cow. Annabelle’s different—classy.’
Which left her with nothing to say, although maybe that didn’t matter as Nick/Storm had turned away and was looking out the window at the whiteness of the clouds through which they were now flying.
Leaving her free to turn her attention to the paper, except…
‘Why did you volunteer?’
She shouldn’t have asked, she’d known that, but, well, he’d asked her…
This time his smile, as he turned, looked as if it had been drawn on his face and there was a suggestion of wariness in his eyes.
‘Why would my reason be any different from yours?’
‘Because you drive a Porsche and I drive a beat-up fifth-hand VW?’
It was too flippant an answer and as soon as the words were out she wished them back. As if it mattered what he drove! And hadn’t she heard some story about the car?
A gift?
Surely not. Maybe a lottery win.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you were the kind of person who judged people by their possessions.’
The blue eyes were cold, and the drawn-on smile was gone.
‘As you don’t know me at all, you can hardly judge, but you’re right,’ she muttered. ‘It’s none of my business what you drive or why you’re here.’
Hoping her cheeks hadn’t coloured in embarrassment, she turned her attention to the paper.
The twinge of regret was so unexpected Nick didn’t, at first, register it for what it was. He glanced at his companion, wondering if her concentration on the morning paper was pretence—a way out of an awkward situation.
Which he had caused with his cutting remark. It didn’t matter.
Better all round if they remained colleagues, not exactly distant but, well, professional.
Except that he’d admired the way she’d hit back at him, even if she’d coloured as she’d spoken and her voice had quavered slightly.
‘Actually, I did have a valid reason,’ he said, and she turned from the paper, her brown eyes widening so Nick was reminded of a small animal trapped in the headlights of a car at night.
‘I’m officially on leave—accumulated holidays—but I’m taking over as head of the ER when I get back and it seemed to me that, in the new position, I shouldn’t be choosing people for this outreach scheme when I didn’t know the first thing about it.’
It wasn’t the entire truth but it was a greater part of it. The other part—the idea that had been mooted—well, he’d have to wait and see, especially as Annabelle was speaking again.
‘You could have visited for a few days, or a week,’ she pointed out.
‘And learned what? I’d have seen the place and maybe done a clinic or two but would that really educate me about the job I’m asking people to do?’
‘No!’
