erupted into her life. So she’d told him about her dad going off, but did that give him the right to pry further into her life? And why ask that particular question? What had she said to make him think her life back in Crystal Cove was anything but perfect?
It wasn’t, of course, and probably never would be, not entirely, and especially not if the refuge closed because without the refuge she’d have time on her hands—time to think—and that meant letting all the mess of grief and guilt from Jilly’s death come flooding back. That definitely wasn’t his business.
She had no intention of answering his questions, now or ever. Neither was he staying. With school holidays looming and the town due to double or even triple in population for a couple of months, maybe he’d have to stay until the agency found her someone more suitable, but permanently?
No way!
The problem was, given that he was on her front deck, what did she do with him right now? She had to say something.
Politeness dictated the answer.
‘Would you like a coffee, tea, a cold drink?’
She looked up at him as she asked the question and saw the white lines fanning out from his eyes where he’d smiled, or squinted, in the sun. She saw lines of stress in his face as well. A photo taken when he’d just left the army? An army doctor? In this day and age most army doctors would have been deployed in war zones overseas. He’d mentioned deserts. Of course there’d be lines of stress in his face.
‘Water is fine,’ he replied, and she guessed he was probably as uncomfortable as she was.
‘I’m making coffee,’ she persisted, ‘so it’s no trouble.’
He looked down at her, a slight frown on his face.
‘Water’s fine,’ he repeated, then he crossed to the edge of the deck and looked out over the ocean.
Jo hurried into the house, anxious to read more of the file she held in her hands. It was strange that the agency hadn’t contacted her to let her know the man was coming—although maybe it was because he was a man they’d neglected to contact her. They knew she wanted a woman; they even knew why.
The kitchen faced the deck so she could keep an eye on the stranger as she popped a capsule into her coffee machine. While the milk heated, she flicked through the pages, coming to a highlighted passage about Dr Fraser Cameron’s second degree in psychology and his counselling experience. Had the agency highlighted it, or had they told him what she wanted so he’d highlighted it himself?
He’d been counselling young soldiers in a war zone? Doing more than counselling, too, no doubt.
Putting young men and women back together physically as well as mentally.
The very thought made Jo’s stomach tighten.
But hard as his job must have been, how would it relate to counselling women in a refuge?
The refuge …
If it closed it wouldn’t matter one jot whether the man could counsel women or not.
If it closed she wouldn’t need another doctor in the practice …
Jo sighed then stiffened, straightening her shoulders and reinforcing her inner determination.
The refuge was not going to close!
What’s more, if this man was going to stay, even in the short term, he’d have to help her make sure it didn’t.
She poured the milk into her coffee, filled a glass with water from the refrigerator, and headed back to the deck.
‘Did the agency explain the type of counselling you’d be required to do?’ she asked him as he came towards the table where she’d set down their drinks.
The little frown she’d noticed earlier deepened and he shook his head, then shrugged shoulders that were so broad she wondered how he fitted through a doorway.
Shoulders?
Why was she thinking of shoulders? Worse, when had she last even noticed physical attributes in a man, yet here she was seeing lines in his face, and checking on shoulders …
‘They said you wanted someone with counselling experience because although there was a psychologist in Crystal Cove, he, or maybe it was a she, was already overworked. I assumed you probably ran well-men and well-women clinics, sex education at the schools and parenting skills courses. You’d be likely to use counselling as part of these.’
Jo sighed.
‘The women’s refuge wasn’t mentioned?’
His reaction was a blank stare, followed by a disbelieving ‘Women’s refuge? The town has a population of what, thirty-five hundred and you have a women’s refuge?’
‘The area has a much larger population—small farms, villages, acreage lots where people have retired or simply moved in. Anyway, just because women live in a small town, does that mean they’re not entitled to a safe place to go?’
Had she snapped that he held up his hands in surrender?
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry! No way I meant that, but it came as a shock, the refuge thing. No wonder you took one look at me and saw me as a disaster. My size alone is enough to frighten horses, not to mention vulnerable women, but surely we can work through this. Surely the women who use the refuge come in contact with other men in their lives, men who aren’t threatening to them? And wouldn’t it be a good thing if they did? If they got to know men who didn’t threaten them? Men who are just as horrified by what is happening to them, and just as empathetic with them, as a woman counsellor would be?’
He was right, of course! One of the refuge’s strongest supporters was Mike Sinclair, the officer in charge of the local police force, while Tom Fletcher, head of the small local hospital, was loved by all the women who used the refuge. But the refuge aside, did she want this man working for her?
The answer that sprang immediately to mind was a firm no, but when she questioned it she didn’t like the reasons. They were far too personal. She was judging the man on his appearance, not his ability—judging him on the effect he was having on her.
Anyway, did she have a choice but to accept him?
Not right now.
‘I suppose you’ll have to do,’ she said, hoping it hadn’t come out as an unwilling mutter. ‘But it’s a trial, you have to understand that. I’m not promising it will work out, but right now I’m desperate. The town doubles in size in school holidays, which begin officially in a fortnight, but before that we have the wonderful invasion of schoolies.’
‘Schoolies? You have schoolies coming here?’
And although she dreaded the annual influx of school-leavers every year, Jo still felt affronted that the man would think her town not good enough for them.
‘Not all school leavers want the bright lights of Surfers’ Paradise,’ she said defensively.
‘Ha!’ he said,
