Authors: Meredith Webber,Alison Roberts
And with that she spun on her heel and walked briskly back into the hospital.
Wonderful! Now Grace had joined the throng of people he’d somehow managed to upset, simply because they refused to let him get on with his life his way.
Alone! With no emotional involvement with anyone or anything.
Except Sport, the three-legged blue heeler cattle dog he’d rescued from the dump one day.
And his parents—he liked his parents. And they’d known him well enough to back off when Nikki had died …
He climbed into his vehicle and slumped back against the seat. Was the day over? Please, God, it might be. On top of all the damage and power disruptions caused by the gale-force winds stirred up by Cyclone Willie, he’d had to handle traffic chaos at the fishing competition, an assault on Georgie Turner, the local obstetrician, Sophia Poulos, mother of the groom at the next day’s wedding, phoning every fifteen minutes to ask about the cyclone as if he was personally responsible for its course, and to top it all off, he’d had to visit Georgie again.
She was still shaken from the assault by a patient’s relative earlier that day, and nursing a hairline fracture to her cheekbone. Now Harry had to tell her there was a summons out for her stepfather’s arrest—her stepfather who currently had custody of her little brother Max.
Did Georgie know where he was?
She hadn’t known where the pair were, and he’d hated himself for asking because now she’d be even more worried about Max, whom she’d loved and cared for since he’d been a baby, bringing him up herself—except for the times when the worthless scoundrel who’d fathered him swooped in and took him away, no doubt to provide a prop in some nefarious purpose.
Max was such a great kid, growing up around the hospital, loved and watched out for by everyone in the close-knit community.
So Harry had been driving away from the doctors’ house, seething with frustration that he couldn’t offer anything to help the white-faced, injured woman, when the call had come in about the tree coming down to block the Wygera road. His chainsaw had already been in the vehicle so he’d decided to take out some of his anger and frustration on a tree.
None of which was any excuse for being rude to Grace …
Not wanting to think about Harry or the crushing words he’d used, Grace retreated to cubicle one once again and climbed back onto the examination couch. She stared at the stain on the ceiling, trying to see a penguin or a cane train engine but seeing only an amoeba.
Was it because she lacked imagination?
Not that she couldn’t see the penguin but that she couldn’t let Harry alone to get on with his life his own way.
Did her lack of imagination mean she couldn’t understand his grieving process?
Hurt enveloped her—that Harry could say what he had. And while she knew she should have welcomed his angry comment because now she knew for sure she had to move on, such rational reasoning didn’t make the pain any less.
She studied the stain.
‘Is this place totally deserted?’
Another male voice, this one deep and slightly husky. Grace sprang off the couch and was about to emerge from the treatment cubicle when the curtain opened.
Luke Bresciano, hunky, dark amber-eyed, black-haired, Italian-Australian orthopod, stood there, smiling at her.
‘I always napped on examination couches when I was on duty in the ER, and for some reason it’s always treatment room one,’ he teased.
He had a lovely smile but it didn’t reach his eyes—a tortured soul, Dr B. And although, this being Crocodile Creek, stories about his past abounded—a woman who’d left him, a child—no one really knew any more about him than they had the day he’d arrived. Age, marital status and qualifications.
‘You’re here late. Do you have a patient coming in?’ Grace asked, being practical and professional while wondering if she remembered how to flirt and if there was any point in trying a little flirtation on Luke. Although was there any point in swapping one tortured soul for another?
‘I find sleep comes when it wants to and it wasn’t coming so I drove up to see a patient I’d admitted earlier. I looked in on Susie while I was here—’
‘Susie? Our physio Susie? In hospital? But she can’t be.’ Grace was stumbling over her disbelief. ‘She’s Emily’s bridesmaid tomorrow. Mrs Poulos will have a cow!’
Luke offered a kindly smile—much like the one Grace usually offered drunks or people coming out of anaesthetic who were totally confused.
‘You obviously haven’t heard the latest. Susie had a fall and sprained her ankle earlier today—or is it yesterday now? But the bridesmaid thing’s been sorted out. Her twin sister Hannah is here—they’re identical
twins—and she’s going to do bridesmaid duties so the photos won’t—’
‘Be totally spoilt by Susie’s crutches,’ Grace finished for him, shaking her head in bemusement that such a wonderful solution—from Mrs P.’s point of view—had been found. Grace was quite sure Emily wouldn’t have minded in the least.
Nodding agreement to her ending of the story, Luke finished, ‘Exactly! So after visiting Susie, who was sound asleep anyway, I was taking a short cut out through here when I realised how empty it seemed.’
He smiled at Grace but although it was a very charming smile, it did nothing to her heart. She’d really have to work on it if she wanted to move on from Harry. ‘I thought I’d better check we did have someone on duty.’
‘Yes, that’s me. I can’t believe how quiet it is. All I heard from the day staff was how busy they’d been and I was busy earlier but now …’
She waved her arms around to indicate the emptiness.
‘Then I’ll let you get back to sleep,’ Luke said.
He turned to depart and she remembered the stain.
‘Before you go, would you mind having a look at this stain?’
The words were out before she realised just how truly weird her request was, but Luke was looking enquiringly at her, so she pointed at the stain on the ceiling.
‘Roof leaking? I’m not surprised given the rain we’ve been having, but Maintenance probably knows more about leaking roofs than I do. In fact, they’d have to.’ Another charming smile. ‘I know zilch.’
‘It’s not a leak. It’s an old stain but I’d really like to know what you think about the shape. You have to lie down on the couch to see it properly. Would you mind checking it out and telling me what it looks like to you?’
‘Ink-blot test, Grace?’ Luke teased, but he lay obediently on the couch and turned his attention to the stain.
‘It looks a bit like a penguin to me,’ Luke said, and Grace was sorry she’d asked.
She walked out to the door with Luke, said goodbye, then returned to the cubicle.
It
must
be lack of imagination that she couldn’t see it. She focussed on the stain, desperate to see the penguin and prove her imaginative abilities.
Hadn’t she just imagined herself darning Harry’s socks?
The stain remained a stain—amoeba-like in its lack of form. She clambered off the couch, chastising herself for behaving so pathetically.
For heaven’s sake, Grace, get over it!
Get over Harry and get on with your life.
She stood and stared at the stain, trying for a cane train engine this time …
Trying not to think about Harry …
Failing …
It had come as a tumultuous shock to Grace, the realisation that she was love with Harry. She, who’d vowed never to risk one-sided love again, had fallen into the trap once more. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d been there and done that as far as love and marriage were concerned.
A man who had no intention of changing his single status.
They’d been at a State Emergency Service meeting, and had stayed behind, as they nearly always did, to chat. Grace was team leader of the Crocodile Creek SES and Harry, as the head of the local police force, was the co-ordinator for all rescue and emergency services in the area.
Harry had suggested coffee, as he nearly always did after their fortnightly meetings. Nothing noteworthy there—coffee was coffee and all Grace’s defences had been securely in place. They’d locked the SES building and walked the short distance down the road to the Black Cockatoo, which, although a pub, also served the best coffee in the small community of Crocodile Creek.
The bar had been crowded, a group of young people celebrating someone’s birthday, making a lot of noise and probably drinking a little too much, but Harry Blake, while he’d keep an eye on them, wasn’t the kind of policeman who’d spoil anyone’s innocent fun.
So he’d steered Grace around the corner where the bar angled, leaving a small, dimly lit area free from noise or intrusion.
The corner of the bar had been dark, but not too dark for her to see Harry’s grey eyes glinting with a reflection of the smile on his mobile lips and Harry’s black hair flopping forward on his forehead, so endearingly her fingers had ached to push it back.
‘Quieter here,’ he said, pulling out a barstool and taking Grace’s elbow as she clambered onto it. Then he smiled—nothing more. Just a normal, Harry Blake kind of smile, the kind he offered to men, women, kids and
dogs a million times a day. But the feeble defences Grace O’Riordan had built around her heart collapsed in the warmth of that smile, and while palpitations rattled her chest, and her brain tut-tutted helplessly, Grace realised she’d gone and done it again.
Fallen in love.
With Harry, of all people …
Harry, who was her friend …
G
RACE
fidgeted with the ribbon in her hair. It was too much—she knew it was too much. Yet the woman in the mirror looked really pretty, the ribbon somehow enhancing her looks.
She took a deep breath, knowing it wasn’t the ribbon worrying her but Harry, who was about to pick them all up to drive them to the wedding.
The hurtful words he’d uttered very early that morning—
you’re not my mother or my wife
—still echoed in her head, made worse by the knowledge that what he’d said was true. She
didn’t
have the right to be telling Harry what to do!
It was a good thing it had happened, she reminded herself. She had to get past this love she felt for him. She’d had enough one-sided love in her life, starting in her childhood—loving a father who’d barely known she’d existed, loving stepbrothers who’d laughed at her accent and resented her intrusion into their lives.
Then, of course, her relationship with James had confirmed it. One-sided love was not enough. Love had
to flow both ways for it to work—or it did as far as she was concerned.
So here she was, like Cinderella heading for the ball, on the lookout for a prince.
Harry’s a prince, her heart whispered, but she wasn’t having any of that. Harry was gone, done and dusted, out of her life, and whatever other clichés might fit this new determination.
And if her chest hurt, well, that was to be expected. Limbs hurt after parts of them were amputated and getting Harry out of her heart was the same thing—an amputation.
But having confirmed this decision, shouldn’t she take her own car to the wedding? She could use the excuse that she needed to be with Mrs P. Keeping Mrs P. calm and rational—or as calm and rational as an over-excitable Greek woman could manage on the day her only son was married—was Grace’s job for the day.
A shiver of uncertainty worse, right now, than her worry over Harry feathered down Grace’s spine. Mike’s mother had planned this wedding with the precision of a military exercise—or perhaps a better comparison would be a full-scale, no-holds-barred, Technicolor, wide-screen movie production.
Thinking now of Mrs Poulos, Grace glanced towards the window. Was the wind getting up again? It sounded wild out there, although at the moment it wasn’t raining. When the previous day had dawned bright and sunny, the hospital staff had let out their collective breaths. At least, it had seemed, Mrs P. would get her way with the weather.
But now?
The cyclone that had teased the citizens of North Queensland for days, travelling first towards the coast then veering away from it, had turned out to sea a few days earlier, there, everyone hoped, to spend its fury without any further damage. Here in Crocodile Creek, the river was rising, the bridge barely visible above the water, while the strong winds and rain earlier in the week had brought tree branches crashing down on houses, and Grace’s SES workers had been kept busy, spreading tarpaulins over the damage.
Not that tarps would keep out the rain if the cyclone turned back their way—they’d be ripped off by the wind within minutes, along with the torn roofing they were trying to protect—
‘Aren’t you ready yet?’
Christina was calling from the living room, although Grace had given her and Joe the main bedroom—the bedroom they’d shared for a long time before moving to New Zealand to be closer to Joe’s family. Now Grace rented the little cottage from Christina, and was hoping to discuss buying it while the couple was here for the birth of their first child as well as the hospital weddings.
‘Just about,’ she answered, taking a last look at herself and wondering again if she’d gone overboard with the new dress and the matching ribbon threaded through her short fair curls.
Wondering again about driving herself but thinking perhaps she’d left that decision too late. Harry would be here any minute. Besides, her friends might think she was snubbing them.
She’d just have to pretend—she was good at that—
only today, instead of pretending Harry was just a friend, she’d have to pretend that all was well between them. In a distant kind of way.
She certainly wasn’t going to spoil Mike and Em’s wedding by sulking over Harry all through it.
‘Wow!’
Joe’s slow smile told her he meant the word of praise, and Grace’s doubts disappeared.
‘Wow yourself,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Christina’s pregnant and you’re the one that’s glowing. You both look fantastic.’
She caught the private, joyous smile they shared and felt it pierce her heart like a shard of glass, but held her own smile firmly in place. She might know she’d lost her bounce—lost a little of her delight in life and all the wonders it had to offer—but she’d managed to keep it from being obvious to her friends. Still smiling, still laughing, still joking with her colleagues, hiding the pain of her pointless, unrequited love beneath her bubbly exterior.
Pretence!
‘And you’ve lost weight,’ Christina said, eyeing Grace more carefully now. ‘Not that it doesn’t suit you, you look beautiful, but don’t go losing any more.’
‘Beautiful? Grace O’Riordan beautiful? Pregnancy affecting your vision?’ Grace said, laughing at her friends—mocking the warmth of pleasure she was feeling deep inside.
Harry heard the laugh as he took the two steps up to the cottage veranda in one stride. No one laughed like Grace, not as often or as—was ‘musically’ the right word? Grace’s laugh sounded like the notes of a beautiful
bird, cascading through the air, bringing pleasure to all who heard it.
Beautiful bird? Was all this wedding business turning him fanciful?
Surely not!
While as for Grace …
He caught the groan that threatened to escape his lips. He was in the right—he had no doubt about that. What he did and didn’t do wasn’t Grace’s business. Yet he was uneasily aware that he’d upset her and wasn’t quite sure how to fix things between them.
Wasn’t, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, entirely sure he wanted to …
At least it sounded as if they were ready. He’d offered to drive the three of them, thinking his big four-by-four would be more comfortable for the very pregnant Christina than Grace’s little VW, but now he was regretting the impulse. With the possibility that the cyclone would turn back towards the coast, he had an excuse to avoid the wedding altogether, which would also mean not having to face Grace.
Although Mike had been a friend for a long time …
A sudden gust of wind brought down a frond from a palm tree and, super-sensitive right now to any change in the atmospheric conditions, Harry stopped, turned and looked around at the trees and shrubs in the cottage’s garden. The wind had definitely picked up again, stripping leaves off the frangipani and bruising the delicate flowers. He shook his head, certain now the cyclone must have swung back towards them again, yet knowing there was nothing he, or anyone else, could do to stop it if it continued towards the coast this time.
They would just have to check all their preparations then wait and see. Preparations were easy—it was the waiting that was hard.
‘You look as if you’re off to a funeral, not a wedding,’ Christina teased as she came out the door, and though he found a smile for her, it must have been too late, for she reached out and touched his arm, adding quietly, ‘Weddings must be hard for you.’
He shook his head, rejecting her empathy—not deserving it, although she wasn’t to know that. Then he looked beyond her and had to look again.
Was that really Grace?
And if it was, why was his body stirring?
Grace it was, smiling at him, a strained smile certainly, but recognisable as a smile, and saying something. Unfortunately, with his blood thundering in his ears, he couldn’t hear the words, neither could he lip-read because his eyes kept shifting from her hair—a ribbon twined through golden curls—to her face—was it the colour of the dress that made her eyes seem bluer?—to her cleavage—more stirring—to a slim leg that was showing through a slit in the dark blue piece of fabric she seemed to have draped rather insecurely around her body.
His first instinct was to take off his jacket and cover her with it, his second was to hit Joe, who was hovering proprietorially behind her, probably looking down that cleavage.
He did neither, simply nodding to the pair before turning and leading the way out to the car, trying hard not to limp—he hated sympathy—opening the front door for Christina, explaining she’d be more comfortable
there, letting Joe open the rear door for Grace, then regretting a move that put the pair of them together in the back seat.
Mental head slap! What was
wrong
with him? These three were his friends—good friends—Grace especially, even though, right now, he wasn’t sure where he stood with Grace.
Very carefully, he tucked Christina’s voluminous dress in around her, extended the seat belt so it would fit around her swollen belly, then shut the door, though not without a glance towards the back seat—towards Grace.
She was peering out the window, squinting upwards.
Avoiding looking at him?
He couldn’t blame her.
But when she spoke he realised just how wrong he was. He was the last thing on Grace’s mind.
‘Look, there’s a patch of blue sky. The sun
is
going to shine for Mike and Emily.’
Harry shook his head. That was a Grace he recognised, always thinking of others, willing the weather to be fine so her friends could be blessed with sunshine at their wedding.
Although that Grace usually wore big T-shirts and long shorts—that Grace, as far as he’d been aware, didn’t have a cleavage …
Christina and Joe had both joined Grace in her study of the growing patch of blue sky, Christina sure having sunshine was a good omen for a happy marriage.
‘Sunshine’s good for the bride because her dress won’t get all wet and her hair won’t go floppy,’ Joe declared, with all the authority of a man five months
into marriage who now understood about women’s hair and rain. ‘But forget about omens—there’s only one thing that will guarantee a happy marriage, and that’s a willingness for both partners to work at it.’
He slid a hand onto Christina’s shoulder then added, ‘Harry here knows that.’
Grace saw the movement of Harry’s shoulders as he winced, and another shard of glass pierced her vulnerable heart. She hadn’t been working at the hospital when Harry’s wife, Nikki, had died, but she’d heard enough to know of his devotion to her—of the endless hours he’d spent by her side—and of his heartbreak at her death.
You’re not my wife!
The words intruded on her sympathy but she ignored them, determined to pretend that all was well between them—at least in front of other people.
‘What’s the latest from the weather bureau, Harry?’ she asked, hoping to divert his mind from memories she was sure would be bad enough on someone else’s wedding day. ‘Does this wind mean Willie’s turned again and is heading back our way, or is it the early warning of another storm?’
He glanced towards her in the rear-view vision mirror and nodded as if to say, I know what you’re doing. But his spoken reply was crisply matter-of-fact. ‘Willie’s turned—he’s running parallel to the coast again but at this stage the bureau has no indication of whether he’ll turn west towards us or continue south. The winds are stronger because he’s picked up strength—upgraded from a category three to a category four in the last hour.’
‘I wouldn’t like to think he’ll swing around to the west,’ Joe said anxiously, obviously worried about being caught in a cyclone with a very pregnant wife.
‘He’s been so unpredictable he could do anything,’ Harry told him. ‘And even if he doesn’t head our way, we’re in for floods as the run-off further upstream comes down the creek.’
‘Well, at least we’re in the right place—at a hospital,’ Christina said. ‘And look, isn’t that sunshine peeking through the clouds?’
Harry had pulled up in the parking lot of the church, set in a curve of the bay in the main part of town. Christina was right. One ray of sunshine had found its way through a weakness in the massed, roiling clouds, reflecting its golden light off the angry grey-brown ocean that heaved and roared and crashed into the cove beneath the headland where Mike’s parents’ restaurant, the Athina, stood.
He watched the ray of light play on the thunderous waves and knew Joe was right—omens like that meant nothing as far as happiness was concerned. The sun had shone on his and Nikki’s wedding day—for all the good it had done.
Grace felt her spirits lift with that single ray of light. Her friends were getting married, she was looking good, and so what if Harry Blake didn’t want her worrying about him? This was her chance to look at other men and maybe find one who might, eventually, share her dreams of a family.
Unfortunately, just as she was reminding herself of her intention to look around at the single wedding guests, Harry opened the car door for her, and as she
slid out a sudden wind gust ripped the door from his hands and only his good reflexes in grabbing her out of the way saved her from being hit by it.
It was hard to think about other men with Harry’s strong arm wrapped around her, holding her close to his chest. Hard to think about anything when she was dealing with her own private storm—the emotional one—raging within
her
chest.
You’re not my wife.
He’s done and dusted.
She pulled away, annoyed with herself for reacting as she had, but determined to hide how she felt. He’d taken her elbow to guide her across the windswept parking lot outside the church and was acting as if nothing untoward had occurred between them. He was even pretending not to limp, which was just as well because she had no intention of asking him how his leg was. Because, Mr Policeman, two could play the pretend game.
She smiled up at him.
‘Isn’t this fun?’
Harry stared at her in disbelief.
Fun?
For a start, he was riven with guilt over his behaviour the previous night, and on top of that, the person he considered—or had considered up until last night—his best friend had turned into a sexpot.