‘If you’re a stranger to these roads you need to take extra care,’ he said, ‘especially during a sudden storm like this.’
‘Did you even hear what I said?’ Fran asked, still glaring at him.
He strode over to his bike and, throwing one leg over, kicked down the stand, before starting the engine with a throaty roar. ‘Sorry I can’t hang about and discuss the weather with you but I need to be somewhere. See you around.’
Fran narrowed her eyes as she tried to memorise his registration number through the pouring rain, still fuming as he
drove off towards town without so much as a wave. She stomped or rather limped back to her car, dripping wet and steaming with anger. She sat behind the wheel for a minute or two as she waited for the downpour to ease. She thought about calling Caro on her mobile but decided against it. There was no point worrying her sister when it would only take a few extra minutes to drive back to town and file a dangerous driving complaint. In any case Caro thought she was going to stop for a coffee, which would have taken much the same amount of time.
The police station was just down from the general store and like many country stations it had previously been a weather-board cottage built by one of the early pioneers. The front entrance led to a small reception area currently attended by a young constable who looked to Fran as if he should have still been at school. She suddenly felt every one of her twenty-nine years as she approached the desk.
‘Can I help you?’ the young ginger-haired and freckled constable asked with a helpful smile.
Fran tucked a wet tendril of hair behind her right ear. ‘I would like to make a complaint about a dangerous driver,’ she said. ‘He almost caused a serious accident just out of town.’
The constable reached for an official-looking form. ‘Right,’ he said, unclicking his pen. ‘Can you describe the vehicle?’
‘Yes, it was a motorbike,’ she answered.
‘Would you happen to know the make?’
Fran rolled her lips together. ‘Um…no, but it was black and silver…I mean…er…chrome.’
The young man stopped scribbling to look up at her. ‘What about the registration number? Did you happen to see that?’
Fran frowned as she tried to remember. ‘I should have written it down. I’ll remember it in a moment…Let me see…there was a V in it, I think, or it might have been a W. It was raining so hard I couldn’t really see the numbers but there was a six in there somewhere…’ Her frown deepened. ‘Actually, it could have been a nine.’
‘What about the driver?’ the constable asked with a deadpan face. ‘Did he stop?’
‘Yes, he did,’ she said with a huffy look as she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘He made a paltry apology and got back on his bike and drove off towards town.’
‘So you weren’t hurt or your car damaged or anything?’ he asked with the same deadpan expression.
‘No, but that’s not the point,’ Fran said. ‘This town is currently without a doctor. Can you imagine what would have happened if there
had
been a collision?’
The constable nodded grimly and resumed his scribbling. ‘I’ll file a report to see if we can find this guy and issue him with a warning,’ he said, and then, looking up again, asked, ‘Would you be able to recognise him if you saw him again?’
Fran chewed at her lip. ‘We-ll…he was sort of covered…you know…in black leather, all over, boots and all. He didn’t take his helmet off, he just lifted the visor, but I would definitely recognise his eyes again.’
The constable lifted his gingery brows. ‘What colour were they?’
Fran unfolded her arms. ‘Blue,’ she said with authority in her tone. ‘An icy shade of blue. Sort of like the underside of a glacier. But they had a darker blue around the edges.’
There was a strange little silence.
‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked.
The young constable’s eyes contained a hint of amusement.
‘Maybe I should get my superior, Sergeant Hawke, to deal with this,’ he said, clearly trying his best not to crack a smile.
Fran pursed her lips. ‘I would definitely like to speak to him if he can do something about this irresponsible motorcyclist who is putting innocent people’s lives at risk with his inconsiderate behaviour. Is he here now?’
The constable cleared his throat in a manner that suggested he was trying to disguise a chuckle. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He came in a few minutes ago.’ He reached for an intercom button on the reception desk and leaned forward to speak into it. ‘Sarg? There’s a young lady here to see you.’ After a moment he looked up at Fran and asked, ‘Er…your name, miss?’
Fran flicked her long wet hair back behind her shoulders. ‘It’s not Miss, it’s Doctor, actually,’ she said, only because it was true in theory and on paper, if not currently in practice. ‘Dr Frances Nin.’
The constable relayed the information to his superior and then got to his feet to direct Fran to the door down the narrow hall, still with that hint of a smile lurking about his too-young-to-be-taken-seriously-as-a-cop mouth. ‘Sergeant Jacob Hawke will see you now.’
As Fran made her way to the door marked with the officer’s name she suddenly realised how soaked through her clothes and hair were. Just before she raised her hand to knock on the door she glanced down at herself and realised her sodden sundress was practically see-through. She could clearly see the outline of her yellow and pink bikini, which was fine when one was on a remote beach with one’s sister, but hardly appropriate attire when one was reporting an incident of the gravity of this to a senior officer of the N.S.W. police force.
She considered turning around and hot-footing it out of the building without formally lodging the complaint, but then she remembered one of the trauma cases she had assessed in A and E a few months before she had quit. A young female driver of only twenty-two had been run off the road by a speeding motorcyclist and as a result had ended up a paraplegic. Her career as a ballet dancer had ended in a matter of four or five seconds, not only destroying her dreams but taking the life of her equally young and hope-filled passenger.
Fran had dealt with the relatives and friends of the two young victims with the training that had been drummed into her, but the human, deeply feeling part of her had lain awake many a night ever since, thinking of how unjust life was, how the ones at fault so often got off with barely a rap over the knuckles. A fine, a licence suspension or even a short prison sentence was never going to bring an innocent victim back to life, and it was never going to console the grieving relatives.
Never
Fran took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on the door and then listened as strong, even strides approached the door before it opened.
Then she felt her jaw drop. She had never really felt that before. Jaws didn’t really drop, at least not in medical terms. Mouths opened in shock and surprise, eyes flared or bulged, jaws didn’t actually drop.
But hers did this time.
Fran stared at him, her mouth hanging open, her eyes taking in his features in one goggle-eyed look. Without the cover of his shiny black helmet she could see he was in the category of heart-breakingly gorgeous, with olive skin, a sharply chiselled jaw that was still liberally peppered with
stubble and a sensually sculpted mouth that she suspected had wreaked havoc on many a female mouth in its time, which according to her rough calculations was about thirty-two or thirty-three years.
His blue eyes—those glacier-blue eyes—were centred on hers, making her heart skip in her chest.
‘You!’
she gasped, barely able to pull in a breath to give the word the force she had intended to deliver.
‘Dr Nin,’ he said with a movement of his lips that indicated mockery. ‘And here I was thinking we had no doctor in our midst. Welcome to Pelican Bay.’
‘I am not practising at the moment,’ she said with chilly emphasis. ‘I’m on leave.’
She watched as his raised brow made a perfect arc over one of his eyes. ‘Have you been warned you are likely to be on a busman’s holiday while you are in town, Dr Nin?’ he asked.
Fran set her mouth. ‘When I say I am on holiday, I mean it, Sergeant…er…Wolf.’
He gave her another movement of his lips that didn’t even come within a whisker of a smile. ‘Hawke,’ he corrected her. ‘Jacob Hawke.’
Fran was annoyed with herself for blushing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blushed. She had dealt with naked men’s bodies ever since she had started med school but for some reason the fully clothed, black leather coated body of Sergeant Jacob Hawke made her flush inside and out. In fact, she could feel every hair on her blonde head lifting as if each one was trying to get away from the blast of warmth his presence induced. And it was a blood-heating presence without a doubt. She felt the rush of hot blood in her veins, the electric charge of tension just sharing the same air he breathed.
‘Would you like to come into my office?’ he asked, holding the door open for her, although she thought the invitation lacked enthusiasm.
Fran knew she would look a fool if she turned on her one good heel and left. She also knew she could end up looking an even bigger fool by staying and saying her piece. But the scare she’d had made her fight response win over her flight one, and, taking a breath that barely inflated her lungs, she stepped past him into his office.
‘Take a seat,’ he said, and moved around to the other side of his desk.
Fran sat on the hard plastic chair, her eyes scanning his desk for any clues to his personality. She decided in the end he wasn’t super-neat but neither was he untidy and disorganised—he was busy.
There was a photo frame next to his computer but she couldn’t see the subject of the photo it contained as it faced him, not her. There was a glass paperweight pinning down some papers, containing a dandelion puff inside. She found herself staring at it, marvelling at the way it had been captured there, its fragility permanently protected by its spherical armour.
Fran became aware of the fact he was still standing, again giving her the impression he was not intending this interview to last very long. She met his eyes and felt another wave of colour wash over her face.
‘So, you’re Carolyn Atkins’s sister,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the filing cabinet. ‘You don’t look much like her.’
Fran felt her back come up against the hard spine of the plastic chair. ‘Is that a crime?’ she asked. She had spent most of her life being compared to her beautiful sister and consistently
falling short. The events of the last few months hadn’t helped her confidence one little bit, which made his comment all the more stinging.
His mouth lifted at one corner but she couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a smirk, but she suspected it was something in between. ‘Constable Jeffrey informs me you would like to lodge a dangerous driving complaint,’ he said. ‘I take it that would be against me.’
She raised her chin. ‘I realise you’re a cop but that doesn’t mean you can drive like a maniac,’ she said. ‘Besides, you weren’t in police uniform or on a police bike or official vehicle, neither, as far as I could see, were you travelling to an emergency.’
Even though he didn’t move a muscle, his eyes turned from ice to stone. ‘Dr Nin,’ he said, deliberately pausing before he continued, ‘I accept that you were frightened by a near collision but the conditions were hazardous and it is my belief you were travelling a little too fast for them.’
Fran could feel her anger stiffening every bone in her body. She got to her feet indignantly, wincing slightly as her leg protested. ‘So it’s my fault, is it?’ she asked, glaring at him. ‘What about you? Weren’t you driving a little too fast for them too, or don’t the same rules apply to you that apply to everyone else?’
He continued to hold her look for several seconds before he unfolded his arms and pushed himself away from the filing cabinet. ‘For your information, Dr Nin, I
was
responding to an emergency,’ he said. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I need to tidy up some things here before I leave for Sydney. I have some urgent business to see to there.’
Fran wondered if he was telling the truth or fobbing her off. After all, there had been no witnesses to their ‘near collision’,
as he called it. It was his word against hers, and she knew enough about cops to know how they stuck together, covering each other’s backs if the need arose.
She slung her handbag over her shoulder and, fixing him with an I-am-not-going-to-take-this-lying-down look, turned and left his office, closing the door behind her with a sharp click.
Jacob dragged a hand through his hair once she had gone, his eyes going to the photo frame on his desk. His chest still felt as if someone had bludgeoned him with the blunt end of a pylon.
He was the only one left now.
It was weird to think of himself as an orphan.
He picked up his helmet and keys. It wouldn’t matter if he drove like a Motor GP driver now, it was too late to say goodbye.
Just like the last time.
‘W
HAT
on earth took you so long?’ Caro asked as soon as Fran came in. The rain was still pelting down outside. ‘I was worried about you. Did you get caught up in the storm? Apparently there are powerlines down everywhere. I just heard it on the radio. Rufus is hiding under my bed.’
‘Yes, it’s certainly a bit wild out there,’ Fran said as she slipped off her soaked sandals.
Caro tilted her head. ‘Are you OK? You look a little flushed.’
‘I’m fine,’ Fran said, grimacing as she pulled her wet dress away from her chest. ‘I just had a little run-in with one of the locals.’
Caro’s finely arched brows disappeared under her fringe. ‘Which one?’ she asked.
‘One of the cops,’ Fran said, scowling as her sister handed her a towel. ‘What happened to that nice grandfatherly sergeant that used to be here before?’
‘Jim Robbins?’ Caro said. ‘He retired a few months back and moved to Lakes Entrance with his wife so they could be closer to their grandkids. There are a couple of new cops now, including a rather gorgeous replacement for Jim…
Uh-oh…’ Caro grimaced at her sister’s expression. ‘So what happened? Did he book you for speeding or something?’
Fran rolled her eyes. ‘Now, that’s irony for you,’ she said. ‘
He
was the one speeding and he failed to give way but tried to make it look like
my
fault. He’s so arrogant.’ Fran gave a toss of her head. ‘Sergeant Jacob Hawke has superior attitude written all over him.’
‘Sergeant Jacob Hawke has got hot, single, currently available male written all over him,’ Caro said with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Maybe you should kiss and make up, considering the man-drought and all.’
Fran gave her a withering look. ‘I may be single and staring down the barrel of thirty, but I am not desperate.’
‘You didn’t find him attractive?’
‘I found him annoying.’
‘But still attractive, right?’
Fran pursed her lips for a beat or two. ‘He’s got unusually blue eyes, I’ll give him that.’
‘What about his body?’ Caro asked. ‘He works out big time. I’ve heard he’s got his own gym set up at his house.’
‘I didn’t really notice his body,’ Fran lied. ‘In any case, he was dressed from head to foot in black leather.’
Caro grasped at her chest in a theatrical manner. ‘Be still, my heart.’
Fran couldn’t help laughing. ‘Don’t be such a goose. I’m going to have a shower. Is Nick back yet?’
‘No, he’s got a parents’ and friends’ meeting so he said he’d stay at school and do some marking until then. We can have a girls’ night. Be a honey and paint my toenails for me? I can’t reach them any more.’
Fran handed her sister the damp towel. ‘It’s a date.’
Fran was taking Rufus for a walk along the beach ten days later when she saw a male figure jogging in the distance. Her first response was to freeze. She felt the knocking of her heart that reminded her she was alone on a beach with an unidentified man coming towards her. Rufus, as if sensing her alarm, looked up at her with a doggy grin and barked before loping off, his plumy tail wagging enthusiastically as he raced towards the jogger.
‘Rufus!’ she called, trying to keep up. ‘Here, boy!
Rufus!
’
The dog loped on regardless and Fran watched as the runner stopped to bend down to give the dog a ruffle of his ears. The man was dressed in running shorts and trainers but his tanned chest was bare, looking as magnificently male as it was possible to look outside a photo shoot, Fran thought.
She breathed out a sigh of relief as she saw the man’s response to the dog. Some people were not ‘dog people’ and didn’t take too kindly to an out-of-control mutt like Rufus bombarding them with sloppy kisses and wet tail slaps. Clearly this man adored canine company and obviously knew Rufus personally, which made her feel better about being alone. She watched as he picked up a bit of driftwood and threw it into the sea. Rufus charged off after it and the man continued jogging up the beach.
As he came closer Fran felt her face colour up and it had absolutely nothing to do with the warmth of the sun.
‘Dr Nin,’ Sergeant Hawke said as he changed gait to a long easy stride, with Rufus at his side, his doggy tongue lolling out in exhaustion.
When he came to a stop in front of her Fran felt his gaze run over her assessingly, taking in her sarong-clad figure. She wished she had put on something a little less revealing but she hadn’t seen a soul on the beach for the past week. In fact, over
the last few days she had she had just started to feel she could relax her guard a little bit, not having to worry about people and how they viewed her. She hated people staring at the scar on her leg. Her sarong was fairly sheer but thankfully not
that
sheer.
‘Sergeant Hawke,’ she said, unable to kept the chill from her tone even though her body felt blisteringly hot.
‘Nice day for a walk,’ he said, reaching down to toss the stick for Rufus again.
Fran couldn’t help noticing the way his biceps bulged as he threw the stick. He was in perfect physical condition, muscular and toned with not a gram of non-functional flesh—as Caro would call it—on his frame. His skin was a deep olive, covered now with a glistening layer of perspiration from hard physical exercise. His shoulders were broad, his waist and hips lean, so lean she could see every contour of his external oblique muscle above his hips.
Stop staring at his groin
, she chided herself, and quickly brought her eyes up to his.
She suddenly realised it was her turn to say something. ‘Um…yes…Rufus likes a lot of exercise.’
Jacob Hawke gave her his first smile. Well, strictly speaking, it was really more of a half-smile but Fran still found herself staring at him as if he had zapped her with a stun gun. Her breath hitched in her throat, her stomach gave a little flip turn and her legs—even her good one—threatened to fold beneath her.
Fran hadn’t realised she had even stumbled until his hand shot out and steadied her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, frowning at her in concern.
She looked down at his long tanned fingers almost over-lapping on her forearm and gave a little shiver. Her skin was
a light golden honey colour from her days on the beach but nowhere near the darkness of his. Her arm was smooth and hairless while his was liberally covered with springy masculine hair, right down his arms to the backs of his hands and along each of his long fingers.
‘Dr Nin?’
Fran brought her eyes back to his. ‘Sorry…’ She swept her tongue out over her lips. ‘I’m still not all that steady on sand. It’s supposed to be good physio for me…you know, walking with bare feet.’
Jacob dropped his hand from her arm, his fingers still tingling slightly even when he took the stick Rufus was poking against his thigh and threw it towards the rolling waves. ‘How’d it happen?’ he asked, turning back to look at her.
Something moved in her eyes, like a stagehand quickly re-arranging something on the set before the audience could notice. ‘Skiing,’ she said, looking away into the distance. ‘In New Zealand.’
Jacob let a little silence pass.
‘So, how long are you staying in town?’ he asked.
‘About three months or so,’ she answered, trying to capture Rufus’s collar as he came back with the stick. ‘We should let you get on with your run.’
‘I’m done,’ Jacob said. ‘I was going to head into the surf to cool off. Have you been in the water yet?’
‘No, not yet,’ she said, reaching for the dog again.
Rufus darted out of her reach and, barking madly, raced off after a seagull.
‘I’ll get him,’ Jacob said and, putting two fingers to his mouth, gave a whistle that would have stopped a train. Rufus skidded to a halt and turned and ran back, his ears flopping and his tail wagging.
‘I’ll hold him while you clip on his lead,’ Jacob offered.
Fran couldn’t believe how uncooperative her fingers were in performing such a simple task but somehow Jacob Hawke’s fingers brushing against hers as he held Rufus in place sent jolts of electricity up and down her spine. Finally the dog was back on the lead and she straightened. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looping the lead twice around her wrist for insurance. ‘Enjoy your swim.’
She began to walk back the way she had come but Rufus proved reluctant to leave. He kept looking back at the tall figure behind, who when Fran took a covert glance was now carving his way through the surf in long easy strokes. His running shoes and socks were on the beach, along with his shorts. Fran didn’t want to think too much about what he was swimming in. Male underwear was very similar to male swimwear but she didn’t want to be around to make up her mind which he was wearing, if anything. She gave Rufus’s lead another firm tug and headed up the path to Caro’s house.
‘Fran, oh, thank God you’re back,’ Caro said as soon as she came in the door. ‘I think I need to go to hospital. I’m bleeding.’
Fran pushed aside her feelings of panic and did her best to get into doctor mode but she felt helplessly inadequate, more so because it was her sister and she couldn’t summon up even a millimetre of clinical distance. ‘How much blood?’ she asked. ‘Just a show or a steady stream?’
‘A show at first and then I got a few cramps and now it’s getting heavier,’ Caro said, swallowing in anguish. ‘I’ve called Nick. He’s on his way.’ There was the sound of a car pulling into the drive. ‘Oh, thank God, that’s him now.’
Fran called an ambulance first and then, after making her
sister comfortable and doing her best to reassure her brother-in-law, she quickly packed a bag for Caro to take with her to hospital.
‘I won’t lose the babies, will I?’ Caro asked as she was loaded in the back of the ambulance a short time later, her face still white with distress.
‘No, of course not, Caro—the placenta may have lifted a little, that’s all. Just keep calm and relaxed and wait for a full obstetric assessment in hospital. The doctors will do everything possible to keep you all safe,’ Fran said. ‘Don’t worry about things here. I’ll look after Rufus and I’ll call Mum and Dad once I know how things are going with you.’
She turned to Nick, whose face looked the colour of ash.
‘Try not to panic, Nick. An early delivery is very common with twins. Caro will be much safer being monitored in hospital at this stage.’
Especially as I am practically useless at managing a sore throat, let alone something like this
, Fran thought in distress.
‘Thanks, Fran,’ Nick said, his throat sounding tight. ‘We’ll call you once we know what the go is.’
It was only after the ambulance had gone that Fran found it hard to keep from spiralling into a full-blown panic attack. She tried to keep busy, but the house seemed so empty without her sister’s cheerful voice sounding out from whichever room she happened to be in.
Rufus looked downcast, his ears down, a low whining sound coming from his throat as he followed Fran about forlornly.
The telephone rang three hours later with Nick informing her he was the proud father of twin boys. Although in the neonatal unit, they were doing very well, all things considered, but would be in hospital for some weeks. There was
some suggestion one of the babies might have to be transferred to one of the larger teaching hospitals in Sydney for further monitoring. Nick had decided he would stay in Wollongong in a serviced apartment and had already contacted the education department about finding a replacement teacher. He wanted to be with Caro and the boys until they could come home as a family.
‘How is Caro?’ Fran asked, trying not to cry.
‘She’s great,’ Nick said. ‘She wants to speak to you. I’ll hand her over.’
‘Fran, you won’t believe how tiny they are,’ Caro gushed with maternal pride. ‘I can’t wait until you see them. Nick’s going to send you some photos via his phone. We haven’t decided on names yet. We can’t quite make up our minds—silly, isn’t it? We’ve been arguing about it for the last ten minutes. We’ve called Mum and Dad, they’re in Italy right now, Florence, I think, or maybe it was Venice. Oh, Frannie, I’m
so
happy.’
‘I’m happy for you,’ Fran said, trying to ignore the tiny pang of envy that trickled through her. Caro was only two years older than her and here she was happily married with two gorgeous babies while she had nothing but a career she was too frightened to return to and no man in her life to love her the way she longed to be loved. She chided herself for being so bitter. Stuff happened in life, and it wasn’t always the white picket fence and roses spilling over stuff. It was hard stuff, challenging stuff, stuff that changed everything in the rapid rise and fall of an eyelid.
When the photos of the babies came through a few minutes later, Fran allowed herself a few self-indulgent tears. She had so rarely given in to tears. Her training had toughened her up, perhaps too much, or so her mother thought, and her gruff
show-no-emotion father, too, when it came to that. But now alone in a big seaside house with just a ragamuffin dog for company, Fran sobbed for her lost life, for the carefree girl she had once been and might never be again.
She didn’t hear the doorbell at first, but then Rufus began to bark and scratch at the door. The doorbell was ringing continuously, as if someone was repeatedly stabbing at the button. Then someone was thumping on the door. Annoyed at the intrusion, Fran blew her nose, stuffed the tissue into her bra, and cautiously opened the heavy front door.
One of Caro and Nick’s neighbours from two doors away practically fell into the hallway, his face marble white, his body shaking. ‘Dr Nin? Caro told me you’re a doctor. Quickly—come on, you’ve got to save her. My daughter…‘ He started to cry, great heaving sobs, each one sounding as if it was shredding his chest. ‘My d-daughter, Ella, my baby fell into the pool. She’s not breathing.’
Fran pushed Rufus back indoors, stepped onto the verandah and shut the door. ‘Who is with your daughter now?’ she asked, her heart thudding as adrenalin kicked in.
‘My wife,’ he said, choking back another sob. ‘She’s done first aid but nothing’s working. You’ve got to help us. Please, quickly.
Come on.
’
‘Have you called an ambulance?’ she asked as she hurried after the distressed man into the neighbouring property, her stomach knotting with dread at what she might find.