‘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 valuable, it obviously had sentimental value to him.
‘She’s a beautiful Harley,’ Helen commented. ‘Is it a ’60 or ’61?’
James regarded her for a moment. ‘You know something about bikes?’
Helen stifled the smile that sprang to her lips at his amazement. ‘I know a little.’
‘It’s a 1960.’
‘It seemed to survive the crash OK.’
He smiled. ‘An oldy but a goody.’
She grinned back at him. It was something her father would have said, his own classic Harley being his most prized possession. Looking at James, she could see why her mother had fallen for her father. The whole free-spirit thing was hard to resist. James’s handsome face was just as charming, just as charismatic as the man who had fathered her.
She blinked. ‘So…what…you just roam around the country, going from one locum job to the next?’
He nodded. ‘Pretty much.’
‘Sounds…interesting.’ Actually, she thought it sounded terrible. No continuity. No getting to know your patients or your colleagues or your neighbours. It sounded lonely.
‘Oh, it is. I love it. The bush is drastically under-serviced. There are so many practices crying out for locums. Too many GPs working themselves into the ground because they can’t take any time off. Much more than city practices. I really feel like I fill a need out here. And bush people are always so friendly and happy to see you.’
‘But don’t you ever long to stay in one place for a while? Really get to know people?’
He shrugged. ‘I prefer to spread myself around. Locums are in such high demand out here—’
‘Tell me about it,’ Helen interrupted.
He smiled. ‘I’d like to think I can help as many stressed out country GPs as I can rather than just a few for longer. And, anyway, it suits my itchy feet.’
She suspected James Remington could have done anything he’d put his mind to. He looked like a hot-shot surgeon at home breaking hearts all over a big city hospital yet he chose to lose himself in the outback. ‘Not a lot of money in it,’ she commented.
‘I do all right,’ he said dismissively. ‘General practice has its own rewards.’
As an only child growing up in a very unhappy household, James had never felt particularly wanted by either of his parents. Oh, he hadn’t been neglected or abused but he’d been left with the overwhelming feeling of being in the way. Being in the way of their happiness. They’d stayed together for him and had been miserable.
Being a GP, especially in the country, looking after every aspect of a patient’s health, had made him feel more wanted and needed than his parents ever had. Not just by his patients but by his colleagues and the different communities he’d serviced. And James knew through painful experience you couldn’t put a dollar value on that. Some rewards were greater than any riches.
Helen nodded. ‘I agree.’
They watched television for a while. Helen found her gaze drifting his way too frequently for her own liking. She yawned. ‘Think I’m going to turn in for the night.’ She stood and leaned over to take his tray, his spicy scent luring her closer.
‘Yes, I’m kind of done in myself.’
She straightened, pulling herself away. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Night,’ he called after her retreating back.
James woke at two a.m. his leg throbbing relentlessly. He shifted around trying to get comfortable for fifteen minutes and gave up when no amount of position change eased the constant gnaw. He reached for his crutches and levered himself out of bed. He’d left his painkillers in the bathroom.
Quietly he navigated his way through the unfamiliar house to the bathroom. He didn’t want to switch on any lights in case he woke Helen. He didn’t know whether she was a light sleeper or not and the last thing he wanted to do was annoy her on their first night under the same roof.
He located the pills and swallowed two, washing them down with some tap water. The thought of trying to get back to sleep before the painkillers had worked their magic didn’t appeal so James decided to sit in the lounge, put the television on low and try and distract himself.
He picked his way gingerly through the lounge room, trying not to make too much noise or bang into any furniture. He felt for the couch as he balanced himself on his crutches and was grateful when he finally found the edge. But as he manoeuvred down into its squishy folds his crutches wobbled and one of them fell.
James made a grab for it but the sudden movement jarred through his fracture site. He cursed to himself as he clutched his leg, helpless to prevent the crutch from crashing down loudly on the coffee-table.
Helen sprang from her bed as the noise pulled her out of her sleep. James? Had he fallen? She dashed outside pushing her sleep-mussed hair out of her face.
She snapped on the light, flooding the lounge room in a fluorescent glow, putting her hand to her eyes at the sudden pain stabbing into her eyeballs. ‘What? What’s wrong?’
James squinted, too, the pain in his leg still gripping unbearably.
‘Are you OK?’ Helen asked, slowly removing her hand as her eyes adjusted.
He nodded. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’
James’s eyes came open slowly and he wondered if the pain and the medication were making him delirious. Before him stood a very different Helen Franklin. Gone was the prim ponytail. Her hair was down, a deep rich brown tumbling in sleep-mussed disorder to her shoulders. It made him want to put his face into it, glide his fingers through it.
Gone was the shapeless uniform. She was wearing some kind of silky sleep shirt the colour of a fine merlot, which barely skimmed the tops of her thighs and clung in interesting places. It left him in no doubt that her pert breasts were no longer encased in pink lace. In any lace at all. He could see the jut of her hip and the curve of her waist and a whole lot of leg.
A sudden image of her riding on the back of his Harley dressed as she was right now, her breasts pushed against his back, stormed his mind
