you are?’ Tony stood and faced Connor, his face grim beneath the soot.
Just great. Mim’s heart plummeted. For the last few months Tony had been playing suitor, quietly. Little gestures, the odd interested phrase. Dinner for two at the pub. She’d let him down gently as soon as she’d realised his intentions were more than just friendly.
It wasn’t just that she didn’t fancy him, but she’d sworn off men. Men wanted her to need them. To rely on them. She couldn’t. She hated the thought of losing control over anything—particularly her emotions.
She stepped in, tried to infuse her voice with a quiet plea for calm. Tony was hot-headed at the best of times and obviously stressed. ‘Tony, this is Connor Wiseman. He’s that assessor I told you about. He’s going to be here for a while, on and off. He’s also a doctor and is keen to help out.’
‘Okay. Connor. A word of warning, mate.’ Tony stuck his hand out. ‘Our Mim doesn’t take too kindly to being told what to do.’
‘Believe me, I know. I’ve still got the scars.’ Our Mim. Connor squared his shoulders and gripped the man’s hand. Clearly Tony and Mim were more than well acquainted. The man had possession written all over his sooty face. And the way Mim looked at Tony, in such a conciliatory way, those full lips curling into a gentle smile for another man, sent jolts of jealousy and anger spasming through him. She’d thrown him over for this? This nowheresville town and this hulk of a man?
Well, good luck to them. Traces of fading arousal from their early spat cemented into a clarity of focus. He wasn’t here to woo her back. Not a chance. He’d lost her once. What kind of idiot would invite that kind of grief again?
Letting him go, Connor nodded. But for the record … ‘Mim and I go way back.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Tony put a hand on Mim’s shoulder. His voice threw down a gauntlet. ‘Primary school? High school? Pretty much all her life.’
Mim tried to stand casually between them. ‘Right, then. Let’s not waste time trawling through my life, shall we?’
She almost laughed. The scenario made her seem like some kind of diva. Little Mim, who hadn’t had so much as a kiss for three years, trying to keep two men from taunting each other. Surreal. ‘Second thoughts, Tony, you come with me. Boy, go with Connor.’
She bundled Tony into Treatment Room One and applied an oxygen mask, measured his sats and vitals. She decided not to mention his possessiveness. That would only draw attention to something she wanted to ignore. ‘Take a few deep breaths. You hurt anywhere else?’
‘Nah. All good, Mim. Scary, though. Those guys were hurt badly. Nasty business.’
‘Anyone I know?’ A likely prospect, as she knew every single inhabitant of Atanga Bay.
‘Macca Wilson and Toby Josiah.’
‘Oh, no.’ Her stomach knotted. Two of their finest. ‘I’ll phone the hospital later and see how they’re doing. Shelly’s going to need a hand with those little kiddies while Macca’s in hospital. And Toby’s mum’ll be worried sick. Any others injured?’
‘No one else got the blast. Just us, and we were a little way back. But the wind whipped up a blaze in no time. Civil Defence is up there, assessing with the fire department. No real danger, but they’re evacuating the campsite as a precaution.’
‘I’ll grab the key to the community hall and go open up. That’s the designated assembly point. Besides, there’s nowhere else to put a campsite full of people.’ Measuring Tony’s sats again, Mim smiled. ‘No major problems here. But I’ll leave you with the oxygen on for a couple of minutes while I go start the phone tree. We’re going to need bedding, food and water for the evacuees.’
After opening up the hall next door, starting the cascade of calls firing the locals into action and discharging Tony, Mim found Connor suturing a deep gash on one of the construction worker’s legs. Connor looked up as she entered, those dark eyes boring into her. Energy emanated from him, as electric as ever. Plug him in and her power-bill woes would be over.
Seeing him there, in her space, so incongruously smart and chic in her tired treatment room, and so very Connor, threw her off centre again. She gripped the doorhandle as she inhaled, deeply, to steady herself. Leather and spice and earthly man again. Her body hummed in automatic response. Inhaling was a big mistake.
He smiled, adding an urgent charge to the humming. She squeezed the handle harder and calmed her body’s reaction to him.
For goodness’ sake, she’d purged her grief at their split years ago, when it had become so obvious she couldn’t give him what he wanted. What they both wanted. Clearly her brain had reconciled that, but her body was living in a time warp. If only she could fast-forward to the end of the review, hopefully some cash. Getting her practice to its full potential. Connor leaving.
He waved gloved hands towards her. ‘Mim? Pass that gauze, will you? Just closing up. Tommo here’s had a tetanus and we’re starting antibiotics as a precaution. I was just telling him, gravel wounds are a haven for bacteria.’ He nodded at his patient. ‘Finish the whole course of tablets, okay?’
‘Yes, Doc.’ Tommo grinned. ‘And keep off the grog too, eh?’
‘Just cut down, mate. A couple of stubbies a night, that’s all. That liver’s got to last you a lifetime.’ He smiled as Tommo headed out the door. ‘And don’t forget about that well-man appointment. You won’t regret it.’
‘Sure. Cheers, Doc.’
To her irritation, Mim couldn’t fault Connor’s bedside manner, suturing skills or efficiency. He was assertive, professional and fast. But as Tommo left she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity. ‘Well-man Clinic? Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get one up and running for a while. No one came.’
‘Here? Wrong venue. Try the pub.’
‘I’ve put adverts up in there. But you can’t do a clinic in the pub.’
‘It worked fine in the some of the low-decile areas out West. We took mini-health checks out to some bars. But now we’ve educated the clients to go to the clinics, where there are better facilities. Still, a pub is a good starting place.’ Connor whipped off his gloves and threw them into the bin. Direct hit. Of course. He was precise and perfect and professional. And poles away from the reality of rural medicine.
‘You don’t know these people. There’s not a metrosexual among them. We’re lucky if we get a blast of deodorant, and no one uses hair gel.’ She tried to keep the knowing smile out of her voice as she surveyed Connor’s carefully dishevelled hair. It must have taken hours to perfect that morning. It looked good enough to run her fingers through.
Check that. No finger running. ‘Anything else is considered just plain girly. They’re stoic blokes and think being sick is a weakness.’
‘What about just before a game? Tried a clinic then?’
‘On a Saturday night?’ Okay, he had a point. The pub was always heaving at that time. But she wasn’t going to admit that. ‘Preventive medicine like that is a pipe dream. I tell you, the only way to get these men to see a doctor is if their head’s falling off or their heart’s given out.’ Remembering the four that had just pitched up to
