The Surgeon's Doorstep Baby (8 page)

The calves bolted upwards as if the water was chasing them. As they realised they were safe they turned into calves again. They looked like kids after a scary adventure, one they could boast about to their mates. A few kicked their heels like this was fun, yay, dry land, safe.

He was still paddling. He reached the gap and Maggie started pulling the canoe out of the water almost before he was out of it.

‘I can...’ he said, reaching down, but she slapped his hands away.

‘You shouldn’t.’ And he saw she was weeping. ‘I should never have let you. You’ll have burst all sorts of internal stitches. I didn’t realise until I saw you...how hard it was...that paddling was awful... I should never have let you do it and you’ll have killed yourself and it’s my fault.’

Okay, let’s get rid of the drama, he decided. She’d been frightened enough for one day. He’d take himself out of the equation.

‘I suspect I’ve killed my phone,’ he admitted, hauling it out of his soaking back pocket and looking at it with apprehension. ‘But otherwise I’m alive. And pretty damned pleased with myself.’ Then, despite her objections, he helped her haul the canoe to dry land. What harm would another pull be when there’d been so many?

But she still looked terrified. She still looked...like the sky was about to fall.

He tried not to notice. He looked at the calves, turning into kids again. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he looked again at this bedraggled slip of a woman, standing with the rain mingling with her tears, and he felt something change inside him...

Something he’d never felt before.

She was gorgeous, he thought. She was simply, unutterably, indescribably gorgeous.

She’d put everything she knew into saving these calves, and now she was feeling guilty. Guilty for saving calves that weren’t even hers. Guilty for risking hurting him. Guilty even for his damaged phone?

She was unbelievable.

And before he knew what he intended, before he even realised what he was doing, he’d tugged her into his arms and held her close.

She’d been terrified, and in truth he’d been the same. Out of his comfort zone. Hurting. Worried the dratted calves would drown.

It wouldn’t hurt to hold her, to comfort her—and to take comfort in return.

But...was this about comfort?

He held her close, closer, and he felt the thump of her heartbeat against his, and thought maybe it wasn’t.

‘Yay for us,’ she whispered, and her voice was muffled by his chest. ‘You were great. Are you sure you’re not hurt?

‘I’m not hurt,’ he said, and then as her heart kept on thumping, he thought it had been terror for him as well as terror for the calves that was making her heart race.

He cupped her chin with his hand and tilted her face so he could force her to look at him. Her eyes were huge. Her eyes still held remorse and fear.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I’m great and you’re terrific.’

And then, as she kept gazing up at him, he couldn’t resist.

He kissed her.

* * *

One minute she was feeling like she was losing eighty calves and ripping Blake’s stitches to bits and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

The next she was being kissed so thoroughly, so amazingly that there wasn’t a thing she could do about that either.

Not that she wanted to.

If she wished, she could pull away. He wasn’t holding her so tightly, so strongly that she couldn’t tug back and get him to release her.

But how could she tug back when she was being kissed...like this.

Fire meeting fire.

Fire?

How could she be feeling heat, when she was cold and dripping and shaking from reaction to what had just happened? There was no answer and even as she asked the question, she forgot it.

She forgot everything.

There was only the feel of this man’s mouth. The fire, the heat, the strength and warmth and...the maleness of him.

There’d been too few men in Maggie’s life. Too little opportunity. Too little time.

This was hardly an opportunity, hardly the time, but there was no way she was pulling back.

Her lips opened, seemingly of their own accord, welcoming him, wanting him.

Wanting him?

Yes. She did want him. Her body seemed to mould itself to him all by itself. Her breasts crushed against him, their wet shirts disappeared almost to nothing, so nothing seemed between them but white-hot want.

His mouth was exploring hers. His hands were in the small of her back, tugging her closer, and hers did the same to him. She was melting into him, dissolving, aching to be closer, closer, closer...

She’d never felt like this. She’d never dreamed she could feel like this. Her entire body was on fire, every sense screaming that here was her man, she was part of him, she belonged.

Maybe it was supposed to be a kiss of relief and of comfort. It was surely a kiss of need—both of them needed the assurance of human contact, that they were safe and life went on and they’d succeeded—but it was more than that.

It was a kiss that changed her. It was a kiss that made her feel as she’d never felt—as if every sense was suddenly alive.

Sleeping Beauty, wakened by a kiss?

Well, that was ridiculous.

There was a tiny part of her mind that was still analysing. It was like she was falling off a cliff and thinking as she fell, How am I feeling right now?

She was feeling pretty good, actually. No matter about the ground rushing up, she was feeling pretty amazing.

Where had this heat come from? What was making her feel like her entire body was sizzling, waking from slumber and turning into something she didn’t know it was possible to be?

She was falling and she didn’t care.

So far it was so wonderful.

How high was the cliff? How long could she stay in freefall, savouring this moment, the feel of him, the strength, the way his hands held her, the way she seemed totally enfolded, protected, frail even...

Strong Maggie, melting at a man’s touch.

Strong Maggie, melting and loving it.

And then Blackie barked.

He’d done his bit. He was expecting praise. Expecting attention. Or maybe it was that his mistress was being mauled by a strange man and the dog was confused and wondering what he should do about it.

He barked again, and finally, achingly, Maggie tugged away.

Freefall over, she’d reached her destination. She almost expected to feel shattered. That was crazy but she did feel... Bruised? Dazed? Exposed?

Confused was the least of it.

‘Well, that was unexpected,’ Blake murmured, and something in his deep, growly voice said he was almost as confused as she was. ‘Adrenalin, do you think?’

‘Either that or it’s something in the water,’ she managed, and carefully turned away and looked up the hill.

The calves were settling. They were high up on the hill, and as they watched, a couple put their heads down and started to graze.

Back to life as they knew it.

Right, she told herself, trying not to feel breathless. Trying to make this strange, needy...
kissed
?...sensation go away. Trying to go back to life as she knew it. ‘That’s that fixed. Well done, us. And thanks, Blake, I could never have done it without you.’

‘They’re my cattle.’

‘They haven’t been your responsibility for a very long time.’

‘Maggie?’ He hadn’t turned to watch the cows. He’d stayed watching her the whole time—which wasn’t doing anything for the state of her discombobulation.

‘Mmm?’

‘They’re my responsibility, and thank you,’ he said. ‘And thank you for the kiss. It was...’

‘Nice,’ she said hurriedly, before he could say anything more. ‘It was very nice indeed, but there’s no need for you to be worrying that I expect to take it further. We might be staying in the same house but there’s a door with a lock between us.’

‘And two kids and a baby.’

‘That, too.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Over
us
.’

‘Over us,’ she repeated, though she wasn’t sure where me and us separated in the kissing stakes. ‘But...’ She tried hard to get her feet on firm ground—a bit hard when she was standing in six inches of water. ‘I...I have work to do. Are you sure you’re okay? Can I check your scar?’

‘No!’

‘I didn’t think so,’ she said, and she managed a chuckle. ‘But you would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you?’

‘Probably not.’

‘That’s reassuring.’

‘I hurt,’ he told her. ‘But there’s no piercing pain. I think I’ve pulled but not torn. Bruised but not broken. Should we take this canoe back over the far side and see if we can get it back up on the car?’

‘Let’s not,’ she said faintly. ‘For eighty calves I was prepared to let you risk it. Now I’m thinking of your stitches again. We’ll secure it here in case it’s needed again but that’s it. I’ll walk the long way round and bring the tractor home. You head over the rise and reach the house without getting even more wet.’

‘Maggie...’

‘Mmm?’

He stared down at her. She was adjusting the canoe, tying the rope to a fencepost.

She was suggesting—no, decreeing—they go their separate ways.

That was surely sensible. That’s what this woman was. Sensible.

She was also vulnerable—and beautiful.

She was also saddled with kids and family and responsibility, chained to a life that was alien to everything he knew.

* * *

Maggie waded back to the tractor, skirting the worst of the high water.

The road was only a few inches underwater. They could never have headed the calves this way—to push them forward when all they could see was water would have been impossible—but the road was still safe enough to drive on.

She’d still be able to get back and forth to her clinic, she thought, which was just as well.

She’d be needed.

The locals had never thought the dam could burst. She made a fast mental list of the houses close to the river and thought none would be so close to water level that they’d be flooded. The early settlers had been wary of floods and had built accordingly. There’d have been more than just Maggie and Blake desperately trying to move stock in a hurry, though. People would be doing stupid things, putting themselves at risk.

As Blake had put himself at risk.

She should never have asked it of him. The man was a week out from an appendectomy, and for him to manoeuvre the canoe as he had...

He could sue her, she thought grimly, but then she thought, They were his calves. He could have said let them drown.

He couldn’t—as he couldn’t evacuate Ruby and hand her over to others.

Her thoughts were running off at crazy tangents. She was thinking of the way he held Ruby—of the way he looked at her. There were things going on in Blake’s background she had no idea of. He looked at Ruby and he almost looked...hungry.

She grinned at that, thinking, Nope, big bad wolf wasn’t the image she was going for.

So, hungry for what?

What sort of childhood had this man had? His mother had been glamorous and flighty—the local gossip was that she’d married for money. His father had been an oaf. Where had that left him?

And why had he kissed her?

She put her fingers to her lips as she walked, thinking they felt...different.

Why had he kissed her?

‘Well, who wants to know?’ She said it out loud and kicked a spray of water up in front of her. ‘You? You know already. We thought the calves would drown, we got them out, and in moments of triumph, people kiss.’

Only it hadn’t been like that. At least, it hadn’t been like that for her.

‘And that’s because you’re close to a thirty-year-old spinster without a life of your own,’ she snapped, and kicked up more water. ‘That’s because every minute of every day is taken up with your work or your family, and your hormones are telling you it’s not enough.

‘So what are you intending to do about it?’

She laughed at that, morosely, because some questions already had answers. Some questions weren’t even worth asking.

What was she intending?

One big fat nothing.

She had a job. Almost half her pay went towards helping the kids out with what they needed so they’d get the qualifications she had, tickets out of the valley, escape paths from the cloying demands of her mother. Apart from one tiny, tiny nest egg, the rest of her money went on living. Putting one foot in front of another. Doing her job and keeping the kids safe.

In a couple of weeks the water would be down and Blake would be gone. End of story.

But maybe, while he’s here...

‘Don’t even think about it,’ she told the silence, and she kicked so hard the water went up and over her, making her wetter than ever. ‘He’s my landlord and if he hasn’t burst anything today he’s a doctor who can help if I need him. Nothing more. Put yourself back in your box, Maggie, and stay there. Now.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
E
got back
to the homestead—and there were more kids.

Plus Maggie’s mother.

Liselle was on the veranda, clutching a sleeping Ruby, and looking almost as if she was holding her mother at bay.

‘Dr Samford,’ Liselle breathed when she saw him, and there was real relief in her voice. ‘I...I didn’t invite her.’

Then Maggie arrived. She pulled in through the gate, climbed from the tractor, squelched across and joined him—and looked at her mother.

‘Mum,’ she said blankly, and Barbie beamed. She was standing by an ancient family wagon. She hauled up the tailgate and lifted out a suitcase.

‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘I was so pleased Dr Samford’s decided to share. Did you remember our living-room roof is leaking? I told you last week, Maggie, and you’ve done nothing about it. And now the dam’s burst and the kids are scared.’

She was dressed as a hippy. Fiftyish, long, flowing skirt, beads everywhere, vivid dyed-blonde hair hanging past her shoulders.

Shudder territory.

And obviously Maggie thought so, too.

‘You’re not staying here,’ she said, in a cold, dead voice that had Blake glancing at her sharply. She sounded like she was in pain.

‘Well, I’m not staying in that house by myself.’ Her mother’s voice became shrill and accusing. ‘You can’t expect me to. I had to sleep in Susie’s bed last night because there was a drip right by mine, and both the kids are whining for you.’

Susie verified the statement by sidling across to Maggie and tucking her hand in her big sister’s.

Blake saw Maggie’s shoulders slump.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights, he thought. She’d escaped her family, but her family had tracked her down.

‘Can you carry my suitcase inside, Dr Samford?’ Barbie said—and simpered.

It was her right to be looked after.

Blake looked at her and looked at Maggie. Barbie was a world away from the woman who’d been his own mother but there were similarities. He was sure she’d married his father for money and she’d gone on to marry three other men who were expected to look after her every whim. Right now she was in the States with yet another besotted lover.

Maggie’s mother had never had the beauty or the style to attract lovers to obey her commands but the way she was looking at Maggie now, he knew the story. Maggie had been the servant. Maggie still was the servant.

No more. A line had to be drawn, and Maggie’s face had him drawing it.

‘Maggie’s brothers and sisters are welcome to stay until the waters recede,’ he said. ‘But no one else. The evacuation notice says that if anyone’s worried, they can camp in the local hall. If the kids want to join you there, that’s fine.’

‘You’re not separating me from my kids!’

‘Of course I’m not.’ Blake strode up the veranda steps and lifted Ruby from a stunned Liselle’s arms. ‘I’m not fussed if your kids stay here or not,’ he said, in a bored voice that told her to take it or leave it. ‘If Maggie wants them to, then that’s fine. If you don’t permit it, then that’s fine, too. All I’m saying is that the invitation is for kids only. Sort it out between you. I need to feed Ruby.’

And he walked in the front door—on his side of the house—and closed the door behind him, leaving all the Tildens on the other side.

* * *

Maggie came to find him ten minutes later. He was in his kitchen, fixing formula. He had Ruby nestled in her drawer-cum-bed by the fire stove. He was feeling incredibly domestic.

He was also feeling like he’d been sucked into another world. Babies and kids and dogs and cows and mothers.

And Maggie.

She opened the kitchen door and it was all he could do not to drop the bottle he was holding and take her into his arms. He’d never seen a woman look so...caged.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed. ‘But they all want to stay. I can’t make them go with her.’

‘She’s not staying.’ He made his voice flat, definite, sure. He spooned formula into the bottles and when he glanced at her again a little of the tension had eased.

‘She thinks you mean it. She’s not game to call your bluff.’

‘It’s no bluff. She walks in, I’ll pick her up and throw her out.’

‘Can...can I ask why?’

‘Because she makes you cringe,’ he said. ‘That’s good enough for me. I don’t know what’s gone on in your past, Maggie, but I know appalling parenting when I see it. I avoided my father and I continue to avoid my mother. You should be allowed to do the same. Has she gone?’

‘Yes, but all the kids are here.’

‘The whole eight?’

She managed a smile at that. ‘No. Just four.’

‘Then it’s five, counting Ruby. We have ourselves a houseful.’

‘Blake, I didn’t mean to impose—’

‘If you had meant to impose—like your mother certainly meant to impose—I would have sent you packing as well,’ he told her, still concentrating on his bottles. Surgical precision was required. Ruby wasn’t going to get anything but perfect milk on his watch. ‘I extended the invitation, Maggie, not you,’ he added. ‘I can see the kids are scared and they need you. They’re welcome to stay here, but only until the road is open again. This isn’t open-ended.’

‘You’re fantastic.’

‘I’m not,’ he said shortly.

‘Yes, you are,’ she said, and her eyes misted. ‘Heroic. Like you told Chris he was. But you’ve done more. You’ve saved him, you’ve saved your cows and now...you’ve taken in my whole family.’

‘But you don’t want them here.’ It was a question, a guess—and it found its mark.

She stilled. She watched him, then watched her feet and took her time answering.

‘I have this dumb dream,’ she said at last. ‘From the time I first remember, it’s always been: “Maggie, watch your brother. Take Liselle for a walk. Stay home from school today because your father and I have a gig...” It’s just...how it is. Mostly I accept it, only every now and then I dream that I’m backpacking round Europe, sipping kir in a café on the Left Bank in Paris, or watching the sunset over the Nile and having no one talk to me for hours on end.

‘It’s a dumb dream but it stays. When the kids are older, that’s what I decided I’ll do. Then recently—when Mum and Dad split—I realised they’re getting dependent as well. I’m starting to be scared that after looking after their kids all my life I might end up looking after them.’

‘It’s not going to happen.’

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘That’s why I moved out. Blind terror, if you like. But the kids still need me. I’ll probably end up going home.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But not tonight. Tonight you solved my problem for now. You let me care for the kids and you’ve forced Mum to be independent—and it didn’t even have to be me who was nasty to do it. Plus you saved all those heifers. To watch them drown would have killed me. I should never have asked you but I couldn’t bear not to. But now...’

She glanced down at Ruby, who was wide awake but not complaining yet. There was time. ‘Now I’m checking your tummy,’ she decreed. She motioned to the leather-covered bench at the side of the huge kitchen. ‘Sit. Lie. I want to see.’

‘There’s no need.’ To say he was astonished was an understatement. She’d been grateful and emotional, but suddenly she was brisk again, efficient—and bossy. ‘I’m fine.’

‘For me,’ she said, still implacable. ‘If you think I can calmly sleep tonight knowing you might have done yourself damage...’

‘Maggie...’

‘You’re a hero,’ she said, and she grinned at him. ‘Heroes are brave enough to bare a little skin.’

‘I’ll check myself.’

‘Doctor, heal thyself?’ she quoted. ‘I don’t think so. Humour me. Lie down.’

‘Maggie...’

‘Just do it.’

He gazed down at her and she gazed back—implacable, immoveable, strong as iron. This woman had raised eight children, he thought, and right now he felt like a ninth.

‘Now,’ she said, and lifted the bottle from his hand and set it on the bench. ‘Do it.’

Why not?

Because he felt vaguely foolish? Because he felt exposed; vulnerable? Because he didn’t want this woman thinking of him as a patient?

All of which were dumb reasons.

He was sore. He had pulled his stitches.

Sensible was the way to go—surely.

He sighed—and went and lay on the bench and tugged his shirt up and undid his belt.

If this was Miriam he wouldn’t mind, he thought. Their relationship could be professional—it usually was. So what was different about Maggie?

He had no answer. He could only lie and wait and submit.

* * *

He had hurt himself. She’d seen him wince as he’d climbed from the boat. She’d also seen a tell-tale spattering of blood on his pants and she’d known she’d have to check. He also knew it was sensible, she thought. The guy in him didn’t want her near him. The doctor in him said submit.

He submitted. He hauled his shirt up, undid his belt, and she unzipped his pants before he could protest.

His abdomen was rock hard, muscled, ripped. As his shirt fell open she was hit once more with the sight of a male body that was pure muscle. She felt the strength of him as her fingers touched his skin while undoing his zip.

She glanced up at him and saw his face set hard. She wasn’t hurting him. She was barely touching him.

This man didn’t like being exposed, she thought. This was a guy who walked alone.

But not tonight, she thought ruefully. Five children, two dogs, and her. She was taking over this guy’s life.

She wouldn’t mind...

Um, no. For the sensation of that kiss had flooded back, and suddenly Maggie Tilden wasn’t feeling professional at all. She was bending over a near-naked man—which she’d done before,she was a nurse, for heaven’s sake—but she wasn’t feeling like a nurse. She wanted...

She could want all she liked. She couldn’t have—
and this man was a patient.

Focus.

She focussed.

He had torn the wound open, just a little, right at the top. The internal stitches must still be holding, she thought, examining the wound with care, as there was no sign of swelling, no sign of internal bleeding. And Blake might look uncomfortable but he wasn’t writhing in pain.

There was only an inch or so that had pulled apart a little and bled, and even that wasn’t terrible.

‘It’s okay,’ she told him, glancing up at him and seeing him with his hands behind his head, staring straight at the ceiling with a look so grim he might as well be expecting her to attack with a scalpel. ‘Hey, I’m not about to dive in and have a fish around,’ she joked. ‘I thought I might settle for a wash, some disinfectant, some steri-strips and orders for a good sleep.’

His face lost a little of its severity but, she thought, he was forcing himself to relax. He was well out of his comfort zone.

‘Want to tell me what’s going through that head of yours?’ she asked, expecting him not to answer, or to deflect the question, but to her surprise he did answer.

‘The last time I lay on this couch, it was because my father hit me,’ he said. ‘I must have been about five. He spilt my face above the eye. Minor stuff. My mother put a plaster on and screeched at him the whole time. Funny thing, though. No matter how much he hit me—and he did—it took the knowledge that he’d been sleeping around before she took me away.’

‘Then I guess you have Ruby—or Ruby’s grandmother—to thank that she finally did take you,’ she said, forcing her voice to be light. She was carefully cleaning, focussing on the wound, not the man—but part of her was thinking this man had been incredibly isolated. She was so surrounded. Which was worse?

Blake’s childhood, she thought. Her parents were dodgy as parents went, but they’d never hit, and the tribe of nine kids had provided their own love and support to each other.

She dared another glance at his grim face and thought, Absolutely, crowds every time.

She’d crammed his house with kids and dogs. She was doing him a favour, she decided—and she grinned.

‘What’s funny?’

‘I’m just thinking of the great protective screen I’ve erected round you,’ she said. ‘Five kids and me and the dogs... No one can hit you now, Blake Samford.’ She dried his skin with care and thought that no one could hit him anyway. Not with those muscles. But she wasn’t telling him that. There was no way she was admitting—even to herself—how awesome she found his body. She started adjusting steri-strips, gently tugging together the slight gaps where the wound had parted. Her concentration was absolute.

He didn’t speak, just lay and stared at the ceiling, but the rigidity had gone. She’d defused the moment, she thought. Kids had to be good for something.

‘I’ll dress it...’

‘I don’t need a...’

‘Remind me to ask next time I need medical advice,’ she said severely. ‘You’ll be dressed whether you want it or not.’

‘Very civilised,’ he said, and she chuckled, and dressed her carefully applied steri-strips and then went to tug up his zip.

His hand closed over hers.

‘I can do that, at least,’ he said, and his hand held...for just a moment too long.

He needed to sit up. Instead of tugging her hand away, she gripped his and tugged—and he rose a little too fast.

She was a little too close.

A lot too close.

They’d been here before. She’d kissed this man. This man had kissed her.

He was so close. He was so...so...

Compelling? For he’d placed his fingers under her chin and was tilting...

‘No.’ Somehow she managed to say it. Somehow she hauled some vestige of common sense from the back of her addled brain and made herself step back.

Her foot hit the bowl of water on the floor, it spilled and she was almost glad.

‘Look what you made me do,’ she said, a trifle too breathlessly. A lot too breathlessly.

‘If you’d let me kiss you, you wouldn’t have tripped.’

‘You don’t want to kiss me.’

‘And you know that because...?’

‘Because I come with encumbrances.’ She stalked over to the pantry—she’d spent six months nursing Blake’s father so she knew her way around this place—and grabbed a wad of old dishcloths. She tossed them onto the floor, then went down on her knees and started drying. ‘I’m a workhorse,’ she said, scrubbing with more ferocity than she needed to. ‘Not a show pony. You’re only kissing me because I’m the only female available.’ She sat back on her haunches and glared. ‘But you’re wrong. You have Ruby who has need of all the kisses you can give her. Concentrate on what’s important, Blake Samford.’