blue shorts filled the orphanage grounds, their excited voices competing with the noise of the traffic. School was out.
Tom stood up quickly, the small plastic chair toppling behind him. ‘I promised the boys a game of soccer. I’ll catch up with you later.’
He’d deliberately ended the conversation as if he regretted telling her his story. She watched him walk away from her and stride toward the boys. Stride toward what he knew, aligning himself with people who understood. Kids abandoned like himself.
She had this utterly ridiculous feeling of wanting to hold him tight and shield him from the world. Make everything better for him. Find his mother.
But no one’s life was perfect and no one’s parents, real or imaginary, ever lived up to expectations.
Perhaps one day she should tell him that.
Sighing, she headed back to the nursery, planning to give Minh another cuddle. Hoping to see a spark of interest in his eyes.
BEC MANAGED TO carefully remove an insect that had become lodged in a ten-year-old’s ear. Heaven knew how long the bug had been in there but it was causing a festering infection and hearing loss.
Simple things could quickly become severe and disabling as medical attention wasn’t readily available in remote villages. As she applied antibiotic drops, Hin translated the continuing treatment for the child’s mother.
‘I hope they follow the instructions.’ She waved goodbye to the girl and her mother and then turned and smiled at Hin. ‘Take a break. I think we both need it.’
She and Tom were doing physical examinations on the children in a poverty-stricken village in the central highlands, a couple of hours drive inland from the coast. Her mind continued to grapple with the fact that children here had to leave school after receiving the most basic education, to work and earn money for the family. This diminished their prospects to go on and really improve their lives and those of their families.
Sweat beaded into droplets and rolled down her stomach. How she wished she could be in shorts and a vest top with a breeze against her skin. But it wasn’t an option.
She glanced around and waved to Tom, who was walking toward her, holding some cool drinks in one hand and balancing some sweet sticky rice pyramids in the other, the distinctive banana leaf wrapping green against his palm.
He always brought her over a snack and insisted she take a break. He did it in his quiet, laid-back, no-fuss way. She often wondered if this was an innate part of him or something he’d learned from practical farming parents. Country hospitality personified.
A blend of unease and longing shimmered through her. She could get used to this sort of caring. She treasured it each and every time it happened.
And she hated it that she did. Depending on someone makes you weak. She would never again open herself up to being that vulnerable.
Tom smiled as he handed over the afternoon snacks. ‘You’ve been spraying your clothes with permethrin, right?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Tom. And I have been sleeping under my permethrin-impregnated mosquito net.’ That wasn’t strictly true but she wasn’t about to tell him the real story.
Each night she lay underneath the mosquito net attempting sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, images of Tom would waft through her mind—Tom playing soccer, his athletic frame nimbly kicking the ball, Tom racing her to the beach, his long stride easily carving up the distance, Tom’s hands gently encircling her waist, his body’s length against her own, and his lips grazing hers with the most tender touch she’d ever known.
She shook away the image, swinging her hair off the back of her neck. ‘I’ve also stopped using my perfume and discarded my show-no-dirt navy for this pale green colour.’ She grimaced at the streaks of dirt already evident.
‘Want to go home, city girl?’ He grinned again, his banter dancing around her.
She laughed. ‘No, but one night soaking in a tub filled with bubbles would be utter bliss.’
His twinkling eyes darkened for a moment before a spark of desire flared in their depths.
A wave of heat exploded deep down inside her, streaking through her like a rocket-fuelled missile. What had she not been thinking? What had possessed her to talk about bubble baths with him? She’d learned years ago to dress non-sexually and not to draw attention to herself as a woman.
That way she couldn’t be hurt. But here she was, hurling an image of herself naked out between them, breaking every rule.
He cleared his throat. ‘How many children do you have left to see?’ His husky words hung between them.
‘I don’t know. Enough.’ She busied herself with her equipment, not risking looking at him, scared she might again see desire in his eyes.
Scared because she wanted to see desire again in his eyes.
Just plain scared.
He stood silently, deep in thought. Watching her. Finally, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to go. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to get on with it.’
His thoughtfulness prickled against her fear like a burr caught in a sock. ‘Thanks for the rice and the water but, really, you didn’t need to bother.’ The moment the words had left her mouth she wanted to snatch them back. She’d just taken away her thanks and turned them into a criticism.
He shrugged and spoke quietly. ‘I realise you’ve had to look after yourself for a long time, Bec, and that’s made you very independent. But part of being on a team is looking out for other team members. You might think about letting someone take a moment to do that for you every now and then.’
He walked away, his shoulders stiff.
Guilt poured through her. In her struggle to stay immune from this gorgeous man she’d just stomped on his feelings and hurt a person who’d always treated her with respect.
* * *
Tom wanted to chop wood. Wanted to swing the axe high over his head and bring it slamming down into the timber, sending splinters flying. He needed to feel the release of tension, feel it drain out of him and into the axe.
He’d lived at the woodpile during his adolescence. There was nothing more satisfying than splitting wood when that hot ball of fury sat firmly in your chest.
But he had patients to see.
He clenched and unclenched his hands. Bec Monahan was the most provoking, the most maddening, most independent, most … His brain fumed, clutching for more descriptors.
Most sexy woman you have ever met.
Visions of her in a bubble bath resurfaced in his mind. He blasted it away on a wave of outrage. What the hell was he thinking, picturing Bec naked?
She was gorgeous but she deserved someone who could give her his complete attention. Right
