conditions he planned to impose.
But her mouth widened into a smile that raced to her eyes and seemed to dance around her like the white light of sparklers. ‘That’s fantastic. You won’t regret this, Nick, it will be a fabulous summer.’
But every single part of him regretted it already.
CHAPTER THREE
KIRBY sat and stirred her coffee at an outside table, looking down and watching the white foam of her latte blend into the hot milk. Nick sat opposite her. Usually she chose this table so she could admire the view of the bay and enjoy gazing at the pelicans, fascinated by the way they lowered their feet in preparation for a water landing.
But today she’d caught herself admiring the way Nick’s thick brown eyelashes almost touched his cheeks when he blinked and how the new streaks of silver against his temples gave him a look of authority. Unwanted tendrils of attraction had tightened inside her and she’d glanced away. It was a lot safer to stare at her coffee.
Nick moved the straw of his smoothie up and down through the dense blend of fresh fruits. Apparently he didn’t drink coffee. This was yet another surprise as every doctor she knew considered coffee a vital part of their day, but absolutely nothing about this man fitted the picture of the doctor she’d expected. However, despite everything being at odds with expectation, he’d offered to help her and that was all that mattered.
‘You’re missing out on an amazing flavour just for a superficial caffeine buzz.’ He winked at her as he drank his fruit concoction, his Adam’s apple moving rhythmically and hypnotically against his taut muscular neck.
A rush of heat burned her cheeks and she dragged her eyes away. ‘It’s not just the buzz, it’s the flavour of hazelnut.’ She already had a buzz and she hadn’t even taken a sip of her coffee. It had started simmering inside her from the moment he’d said he would mentor her. It felt oddly strange and yet deliciously wonderful and she was pretty sure it was relief.
You can call it relief if you want to.
She immediately took an indignant sip of her coffee and turned a deaf ear to the voice inside her head. Of course it was relief. Her search for a doctor was over and now she could stay in Port for her full six months. Stay a long way from Anthony and Lisa.
‘Tell me about the demographics of Port Bathurst.’ Nick pushed his large shake container off to the side, his eyes fixed firmly on her and filled with businesslike intent.
Kirby relaxed under his professional gaze. This was the working relationship she’d anticipated when she’d asked him to mentor her. ‘Fishing and farming are the main industries but life is tough in both. Many young people are leaving town, although the mayor was telling me that recently there’s been a push to increase tourism. A new diving business has opened in the main street, along with charter fishing trips, “Surf the wave” classes and catered cycling holidays.’
He nodded. ‘I sold vegetables from the farm gate to a family on a Gypsy Caravan adventure the other week. They’d started out from Port and were taking the back roads. Regeneration is really important for rural communities like this.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘So, how does all of this impact on the medical services?’
‘It keeps us busy. The clinic is attached to the hospital and there are six acute beds and a small emergency centre plus midwifery. Major traumas get airlifted to Melbourne after being stabilised here and elective surgery goes to Barago. We have a large elderly population and the hospital has a nursing-home wing which is currently full. Oh, and then there’s Kids’ Cottage.’
His eyes darkened slightly. ‘What’s that?’
She leaned forward as her enthusiasm for KC spilled out. ‘It’s a fabulous holiday camp for children. They have camps for sick children with chronic illnesses, they have camps for healthy kids who have siblings with chronic illnesses or disabilities, and they have camps for kids whose families are struggling emotionally or financially and just need a bit of breathing space.’
Nick’s fingers started to unroll the rim of the shake container. ‘But Kids’ Cottage would have their own medical staff, right?’
She shook her head. ‘No, the town has always provided medical assistance since it started one hundred years ago. It’s something that the locals are very proud of.’
A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘That’s one of my conditions.’
Laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘Are you going to fight me for first dibs on working with the kids?’ A nurturing warmth filled her, tinged with regret. ‘But I know what you mean, the cottage was a big drawcard for me to come to Port.’
His mouth firmed into an uncompromising line. ‘There’ll be no fight. I don’t want to work at the camp so you can happily keep all that work for yourself.’
She blinked, completely startled. ‘But the camp is so much fun. Why on earth don’t you want to work there?’
The waxy cardboard unravelled in his hands, pulled apart by rigid fingers. ‘I said I’d help you but there’d be conditions. This is one of them.’
His usually mellow voice was suddenly brusque and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the ‘doctor in charge’, the doctor used to issuing orders and being instantly obeyed without question. It caught her by surprise and a jolt of anger speared her. She tilted her chin—she wasn’t a green first-year resident. ‘What do you have against working with children?’
A streak of something she couldn’t really define flared in his eyes for the briefest moment, before being cloaked by a spark of irritation. ‘I didn’t say I had anything against working with children, I’m just exerting my right not to.’
His arrogance astounded her. ‘I suppose you had a paediatric registrar to save you from such work.’
‘That’s right.’
The blunt words hit her, their uncompromising tone harsh and decisive. ‘Well, there’s no paediatric registrar in Port so what about children who come into the clinic?’
His mouth flattened into an obdurate line. ‘On the unlikely chance you’re not available, I’ll see them.’
‘Well, that’s reassuring.’ The sarcastic words leapt off her lips as a fizz of frustration spread through her. ‘Do you have any other demographic groups you refuse to work with? Any other conditions I should know about before we start?’
His eyebrows rose in a perfect arch at her mockery, but when he spoke his tone was all steely business. ‘This is how I see it working. Each weekday morning I’ll meet you at seven a.m. for the nursing-home ward round and I’ll work half-day clinics Monday to Friday with lunchtime case-review sessions as part of your supervision. I’ll be unavailable on Saturdays because I’ll be at the market.’ He extended his arm toward her, every part of him vibrating with tension. ‘Deal or no deal?’
She recognised the adversarial glint in his eyes as a thousand questions hammered in her head and poured into her mouth, demanding instant answers. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t work at the camp. Why he would prefer not to see the children at the clinic—none of it made sense, but she swallowed hard against every single question, forcing them down deep. If she quizzed him too closely on why he wouldn’t work at KC he would walk, and she couldn’t risk
