gratifying.
As James ate he watched his new housemate surreptitiously through his heavy fringe. She seemed engrossed in the television, sitting with her shapely legs crossed and her hands folded primly in her lap. She was quite petite and the big squishy leather chair seemed to envelop her.
She was still in her clothes from that morning, navy shorts which had ridden up to mid-thigh and a plain white cotton blouse. He assumed it was her uniform. Apart from the tantalising glimpse of her leg, it was kind of shapeless. If he hadn’t known about the pink lace beneath he would have even said it was boring.
‘So, what’s the story with this place?’ James asked as he mopped up the dregs of his bowl with the last piece of bread. ‘It looks quite old.’
Helen steeled herself to look at him and was grateful he was looking at the fancy ceiling cornices. ‘It’s a turn-of-the-century worker’s cottage that’s been added onto over the years. It’s been used as a residence for the Skye Medical Practice for about forty years since Dr Jones bought the property and built the original surgery at the front of the land.’
‘Did he live in it?’
Helen nodded. ‘Until it got too small for his growing family. He had seven children. And it’s been used ever since by successive doctors. Frank lived in it when he first came to Skye until they bought something bigger, so did Genevieve until she moved in with Don.’
‘Frank’s the boss?’
Helen nodded.
‘Has it ever been empty?’
‘Off and on.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
Since Duncan and Denise’s growing brood had made her realise it had been time to move on. They hadn’t asked her to go, had been horrified when she had suggested it, but she’d known it was the right thing to do. As welcome as they’d always made her, as much a part of the family as she’d always been, the facts were the facts. They’d needed an extra room and she was an adult.
It had been an odd time. She’d realised that she’d never had a place she could truly call her own. A place she’d felt like she’d belonged. That deep down, despite Elsie’s love and assurances, she’d always felt on the outside. Her mother was gone and her father was more comfortable with the open road than his own daughter.
She looked around, feeling suddenly depressed. Even this place wasn’t hers. ‘A couple of years.’
James heard a sadness shadowing her answer. He saw it reflected in her eyes. He recognised the look. Had seen it in his own eyes often enough. Beneath the surface Helen Franklin was as solitary as him. Looking for something to make her feel whole. Just like him.
He felt a strange connection to her and had a sudden urge to pull her close, and perhaps if he hadn’t been encumbered with a cast that seemed to weigh a ton he might have. She seemed so fragile suddenly, so different from the woman who had dragged him from the bush. ‘Is that how long you’ve lived in Skye?’
Helen laughed. ‘Goodness, no. I was born here.’
Of course. Everything about her screamed homey. From her casserole to her prim ponytail. She looked utterly at home in this cosy worker’s cottage in outback Queensland.
He felt a growl hum through his bloodstream as the affinity he’d felt dissolved with a rush of hormones. She wasn’t his type. In fact, she was the type he avoided like the plague.
‘Have you lived here all your life?’
Helen didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the word ‘all’. Obviously staying in one place was a fate worse than death for him. She looked at his beautiful face, into his turquoise gaze, and saw the restlessness there. The same restlessness she’d grown up seeing in her father’s eyes. He was a drifter. A gypsy.
‘Except for when I went to uni.’
James nodded his head absently. Definitely not his type. He preferred women who had lived life a bit. Travelled. In his experience they were much more open-minded. They knew the score and didn’t expect an engagement ring the second a man paid them a bit of attention.
‘You don’t approve.’
He shrugged. ‘Not at all. It’s just not for me. I’d feel too hemmed in.’
Heed his words, Helen, heed his words. But a part of her rebelled. The arrogance of the man to assume that because she was still living in the place she’d been born that she’d not done anything with her life. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being grounded. Doesn’t running away get tiresome?’
He chuckled at her candour. She didn’t look fragile any more. She looked angry. ‘I prefer to think of it as moving on.’
God, he sounded like her father. ‘I bet you do.’ He chuckled again and goose-bumps feathered her arm as if he’d stroked his finger down it. ‘So where are you moving on to from here?’
He shrugged. ‘Central Queensland somewhere. Wherever they need a locum. I haven’t seen much of the state and I want to make my way up to the Cape. It’s supposed to be spectacular.’
Helen had been up to Cape York with her father during a very memorable school holiday. It was spectacular. But stubbornness prevented her from sharing that thought. She wasn’t going to elaborate and spoil his image of her as a small-town, gone-nowhere girl.
‘Where are you from originally?’
‘Melbourne. But I haven’t lived there since I finished my studies.’
‘Let me guess. You’ve been travelling?’
James laughed. ‘Very good.’
‘Do you still have family in Melbourne?’
‘My mother.’
Helen noticed the way his smile slipped a little. It didn’t appear that they were close. ‘Your father?’
James sobered as he fingered the chain around his neck. ‘He died in my final year of uni.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Helen said quietly. She met his turquoise gaze and she could see regret and sorrow mingle.
He shrugged. ‘We weren’t really close.’
There were a few moments when neither of them spoke. The television murmuring in the background was the only noise. So James’s relationship with his parents had been as fraught as hers had been with her parents? She felt a moment of solidarity with him.
James stirred before the sympathy he saw in her gaze blindsided him to the facts. Helen Franklin was a woman who liked to be grounded. He’d avoided her type for years.
They were incompatible. He was just a little weakened from the pain that was starting to gnaw at his leg again and her terrific home cooking.
‘Still, I inherited his bike. I guess I have that to thank him for.’
That explained why he’d been so concerned about the machine. It wasn’t just because it was highly
