five years Tindley had been resurrected from being almost a ghost town into a thriving little community with a bustling economy. Enough to support two doctors. Jason had bought into old Doc Brandewilde’s general practice five months ago, and hadn’t regretted it for a moment.
Admittedly, he’d taken a while to settle to the slower pace after working twelve-hour days in a gung-ho bulk-billing surgery in Sydney. He’d found it difficult at first to resist the automatic impulse to hurry consultations. Old habits did die hard.
Now, he could hardly imagine spending less than fifteen minutes to treat and diagnose a patient. They were no longer nameless faces, but people he knew and liked, people like Florrie, here. Having a warm, friendly chat was a large part of being a family doctor in the country.
The bus started up and slowly moved off, happy faces peering out of the windows.
‘I hope Muriel hasn’t sold my lunch,’ Jason said, and Florrie laughed.
‘She’d never do that, Doctor. You’re her pet customer. She was saying to me just the other day that if she were thirty years younger, you wouldn’t have to put up with Martha’s matchmaking, because she’d have snapped you up already.’
Now Jason laughed, though a little drily. Matchmaking wasn’t just Martha Brandewilde’s domain. All the ladies in Tindley seemed to have got in on the act, his arrival in town causing much speculation among its female population. Apparently, it wasn’t often that an attractive unattached bachelor under forty took up residence there. At only thirty, and better looking than average, he was considered ripe and ready for matching.
Not that they’d had any success, despite Jason being invited to several dinner parties where lo and behold, there had just happened to be a spare single girl placed right next to him. Jason suspected he’d been a severe disappointment to his various hostesses so far. Martha Brandewilde was particularly frustrated with him.
Still, he found it reassuring that, despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm for the young ladies served up to him on a platter, there had never been the remotest rumour or suggestion he might be a confirmed bachelor. This was one of the things he found so endearing about Tindley’s residents. They held simple old-fashioned views and values.
Florrie gave him a frowning look. ‘How old are you, Dr Steel?’
‘Thirty, Florrie. Why?’
‘A man shouldn’t get too old before marrying,’ she advised. ‘Otherwise he gets too set in his ways. And too selfish. Still, don’t be pressured into marrying the wrong girl, now. Marriage is a serious business. But a fine, intelligent man like you knows that. Probably why you’re being so choosy. Oh, goodness, look at the time! I must go. The Midday Show will have started and I do so hate to miss it.’
Florrie hurried off, leaving Jason to consider what she’d said.
Actually, he agreed with her wholeheartedly. About everything. His life would be complete if he could find a good woman to share it with. He might have come to Tindley disillusioned with a certain lady doctor he’d left behind, but his disillusionment hadn’t extended to the whole female race. He wanted to marry, but not just anyone.
He shook his head at how close he had come to marrying Adele. What a disaster that would have been!
Admittedly, she’d been a very exciting woman to live with. Beautiful. Brilliant. Sexy as hell. He’d been blindly in love with her, right up till that awful day when the wool had finally fallen from his eyes and he’d suddenly seen the real woman beneath the glittering façade: a coldly unfeeling creature who’d been capable of standing there and dismissing the death of a child with such chilling nonchalance, taking no blame whatsoever for her own negligence, saying that was life and it wouldn’t be the last time such an accident happened.
He’d decided to walk away from her then, as well as from his own increasingly selfish and greedy lifestyle. And it had cost him plenty. Rather than fight Adele in court for his half, he’d given her the place at Palm Beach, and the Mercedes, walking out with little in the way of material possessions. After paying Doc Brandewilde for his half of the practice, Jason had arrived in Tindley with nothing but his clothes, his video collection and a car which was as far from a red Mercedes sports as one could get. White, four-doored and Australian-made. Reliable, but not flashy. The sort of car a country doctor should drive.
Adele had thought him insane, had given him six months to come to his senses. But Jason knew he’d already done that. He wanted no more of the fast life, of the obsessive acquiring of wealth, or even the sort of wild, often kinky sex that women like Adele liked, and demanded. He wanted peace of mind and body. He wanted a family. He wanted marriage to a woman he could respect and like.
Being in love, however, he could do without.
Naturally, he wanted to want his wife. Sex was as important to Jason as any other red-blooded man. The town wasn’t the only thing being warmed up by spring, and, quite frankly, his celibate lifestyle was beginning to pall. He needed a wife and he needed one soon!
Unfortunately, his chances of marrying the only girl to seriously catch his eye since he’d come to Tindley were less than zero.
He glanced down the road to the small shop on the corner. Its doors were still firmly shut. Understandable, he supposed. Ivy Churchill’s funeral had only been last week.
Would Emma stay on and run her aunt’s sweet shop? Jason wondered. Even if she did, where would that get him? Her heart belonged elsewhere, stolen by some local creep who’d done her wrong and left town some time back. According to her aunt, she was still madly in love with this rotter, and probably waiting for him to return.
Jason had been told these scant but dismaying details on his second home visit to the old lady, perhaps because he’d cast one too many admiring glances Emma’s way during his first visit.
Not that the girl had noticed herself. She’d seemed oblivious of his admiration as she sat by the window in her aunt’s bedroom, doing some of her much admired tapestry work.
It had been impossible, however, not to look at her. Jason’s eyes had been drawn again and again to the exquisite picture she’d made, sitting there with her long, slender neck bent in an elegant arc, her eyes downcast, long curling eyelashes resting against her pale cheeks. She’d been wearing a white ankle-length dress with a lacy bodice and a flowing skirt. The setting sun’s rays had been shining over her shoulder, turning the soft fair curls hanging around her face into spun gold. A gold chain had hung around her throat, falling slightly away from her skin, swaying with each movement of the large needle she was moving in and out of the canvas.
Jason could still recall how he’d felt as he’d watched her, how he’d ached to slide his hand up and down the delicate curve of her neck, how he’d imagined taking that chain and pulling it gently backwards till her head tipped up and back. In his mind’s eye, he’d bent his lips to her startled mouth, before something his patient said had snapped him out of his dream-like, yet highly erotic reverie.
His thoughts had aroused him then. They aroused him now.
Scowling, Jason launched himself across the road and up onto the verandah of the bakery shop. But as he reached to open the shop screen door, he swiftly replaced the scowl with a more pleasant expression.
One minor drawback to life in Tindley was that nothing went unnoticed, not even a passing scowl. He didn’t want it getting around town that poor Dr Steel was having personal problems. He also knew not to ask any questions which might be misinterpreted. He
