the door close behind Moira and then swung off her chair and went to stand at the picture window, looking out. She imagined this Dr O’Malley was a contemporary of her father’s from Melbourne. In earlier times Andrew Armitage had forged a rather distinguished medical career before the call of home had brought him back here to the town of Bendemere on the picturesque Darling Downs in Queensland.
Emma had spent holidays here, been happy here. So it had seemed only natural to come flying home when her world had fallen apart. Her return had coincided with the resignation of her father’s practice partner. Emma had stepped in, proud to work alongside her father. In the past year she’d begun to pull the shattered bits of her life together until it was almost making a whole picture again.
Then her father had suffered a massive heart attack, leaving her to cope alone.
Declan O’Malley prowled the reception area. In a few seconds he’d know whether Emma Armitage would welcome his visit or tell him to go to hell. God, he hoped she’d be reasonable. The situation demanded she be reasonable.
‘Oh, Dr O’Malley—’ Moira fluttered back into reception. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Emma was just finishing up.’ She waved towards an inner corridor. ‘Second door on your left.’
‘Thanks.’ Declan acknowledged the information with a slight lifting of his hand. He paused outside what was obviously Emma’s consulting room, took a deep breath, gave a courtesy knock to warn of his imminent entry, and then moved in with every intention of being at his diplomatic best.
Emma turned from the window. Her throat dried. Every molecule in her body felt as though it had been swiftly rearranged. She’d been expecting a man in her father’s age group, a man in his sixties. But Declan O’Malley in no way fitted that description. He looked in the prime of his life, all six feet of him. Mentally roping off the very mixed emotions she felt, she went forward and offered her hand. ‘Dr O’Malley.’
‘Emma.’ Declan ditched formality, enfolding her hand easily within his own. ‘Your father told me such a lot about you.’
Well, it’s more than he told me about you, Emma thought, blinking several times in quick succession, long lashes swooping against her pale cheeks.
‘I can imagine what a difficult time this must be for you.’ Declan’s words filled an uncomfortable gap. ‘I would have been in touch before this but I’ve been out of the country. I’ve just caught up with things in general.’
She nodded. His voice was deep and resonant. Smooth like red wine. Emma could feel its impact like a thump to her chest, momentarily disarming her. ‘Please…have a seat.’ She indicated a conversation area in front of the big bay window.
As they settled, Emma took several quick, all-encompassing peeks at him, recording short finger-combed dark hair, a lean face, strong features, olive complexion. And blue eyes reflecting a vivid intensity that could see things she didn’t want seen…
Declan looked at the woman he had to deal with here. Emma Armitage was strikingly lovely. She had amazing facial bones and her hair looked cornsilk-soft, blonde and straight, just brushing her shoulders. But it was her eyes that drew him. They were green like the deepest part of the forest, framed within thick tawny lashes. And they were accessing him warily. He had to step carefully here. He didn’t want to embarrass her, hurt her. But he’d come on a mission and, somehow, he had to accomplish it.
But how to begin?
‘So, how come you knew my father?’ In a lightning strike, Emma took the initiative.
Declan refused to be put on the back foot; instead he cut to the chase. ‘When I was an intern at St John Bosco’s in Melbourne, your father was my boss. I’m where I am today in medicine because of Andrew. In the early days of my training, I was ready to chuck it. Oh, boy was I ready! But your dad talked me out of it. He was an amazing man.’
A new loneliness stabbed through Emma’s heart. ‘Yes, he was…’
A pause. Awkward. Until Declan resumed gently, ‘Over the years I kept in touch with your dad. Any career-change I considered, I ran it past him first. He was my mentor and I considered him my friend. And I don’t use the word lightly.’
Emma nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. ‘I appreciate your taking the time to come here.’ Her mouth compressed as if shutting off the flow of emotion. ‘You must be very busy in your own practice.’
‘I’m between jobs, actually. That’s another reason why I’m here.’
Emma straightened in her chair, the oddest feeling of unease slithering up her backbone. ‘I don’t understand.’
Declan’s perceptions whipped into high awareness. Something in her eyes and the defensive little tilt of her chin held him back from explaining further. The last thing he needed was for her to start resenting him before they could speak properly. So, softly-softly. ‘Uh…this could take a while.’ He glanced briefly at his watch. ‘Could we perhaps have a spot of lunch somewhere and talk?’
Emma held back a harsh laugh. He just had no idea. ‘I don’t have time to go out to lunch, Dr O’Malley. Patients will be arriving soon for the afternoon surgery.’
‘You’re the sole practitioner?’
‘Yes,’ she said, thinking that was another story in itself.
He’d assumed she’d have engaged a locum, but obviously not. Declan thought quickly. Emma Armitage had a brittleness about her—she was obviously worked to death. He cursed his lack of foresight and sought to remedy it swiftly. ‘Understood.’ He gave a brief shrug. ‘I’m here and available. Put me to work.’
So, what was he saying? That he’d share her patient list? Emma’s eyes widened. She didn’t want to be blunt but she had only this man’s word he was a competent doctor. First and foremost, she had a duty of care to her patients…She turned her head slightly, raising a hand to sweep her loose fair hair away from her neck. ‘Is that a good idea, do you think?’
Declan sat riveted. Her little restive movement had briefly exposed her nape, with skin as tender and sweet as a baby’s. He tried without success to dismiss the unexpected zip of awareness through his gut. What was the question again? Idiot. Got it. ‘Sorry.’ He gave an apologetic twist of his hand. ‘You’ll need some ID.’ Reaching back, he took out his wallet and spun it open in front of her. ‘Driver’s licence.’
Emma nodded, registering that the photo on the licence matched the face of the man sitting opposite her. So he was who he claimed he was.
‘My card as well.’ He held out the buff-coloured business card towards her.
Frowning a bit, Emma took it, almost dazzled by the impressive array of letters after his name. ‘You completed your orthopaedic speciality in Edinburgh, Scotland?’
His hesitation was palpable. Then he said, ‘Yes. It was always the discipline I felt drawn to.’
She handed the licence back with the ghost of a smile but retained his card. ‘Should I be addressing you as Professor O’Malley, then?’
‘I wouldn’t think so.’ In a second his eyes were filled with unfathomable depth and shadows. ‘Declan will do just fine. So—’ he slid his wallet back into
