The Doctor, His Daughter and Me Read online

  ‘You did really well. I’m impressed. Especially since you always seemed to be glued to the city with orthopaedic cement.’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ He detected a touch of sarcasm in her comments but chose to ignore it. All she did was shrug and reach her hand to massage a very attractively muscled shoulder. He wondered what it would be like to have her strong fingers kneading his own tender muscles. ‘And I assumed this was a one-off. An emergency. I couldn’t exactly refuse.’

  The smile on her face disappeared, and Ryan wasn’t sure if it was because he’d said the wrong thing, or because she was disappointed he wasn’t planning on making a habit of early-morning milking.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘I’ll clean and disinfect the tubing, if you could hose out the stalls.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And we might even have time for a quick breakfast.’

  Tara decided to leave the bike at the dairy, saying she would get the dairyman to bring it back in the afternoon.

  ‘The dairyman?’ Ryan was curious. He’d assumed the Fielding family ran the farm single-handed. He squinted at the low morning sun, concentrating on negotiating potholes that seemed to have multiplied since he’d made the trip in the dark.

  ‘We open the farm on the weekend to tourists, or to groups of schoolkids by appointment on weekdays, so that they can see how a working dairy farm runs. One of the neighbour’s boys comes over to help.’

  Of course. Ryan remembered the leaflets he’d noticed at the motel. He stole a glance at his companion. She was coiling a tendril of hair between her restless fingers.

  ‘Haven’t your parents got enough to do—?’

  ‘They have,’ she interrupted tersely. ‘It’s to do with money—you know, making ends meet.’

  So his suspicions were confirmed—they had been struggling. It made Graham’s injuries all the more serious…and distressing. If he was out of action and they had to employ someone else it would make their situation even worse.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise,’ he finally said.

  They travelled the rest of the short journey back to the farmhouse in silence. When they rounded the bend on the approach to the homestead they saw Tara’s car parked out at the front.

  ‘Mum’s back,’ Tara said, her brow furrowing in a frown. ‘I only hope Dad’s—’

  But her words were interrupted by the sight of a tired but smiling Jane emerging from the front door. She waved and started down the steps as Ryan pulled up next to the car.

  Tara opened the door and hugged her mother with a down-to-earth affection he’d never known from his own parents.

  ‘How’s Dad?’ Tara asked as she sat back and sighed.

  ‘As well as we can expect. At least he’s accepted the wisdom of having surgery. The driving force is his getting back to work as soon as he can. He seemed to forget about the milking, though, thank goodness. I think his brain was a bit numbed by the morphine.’ She paused and held her daughter at arm’s length. ‘So how did the milking go?’ Then she glanced at Ryan and smiled, but without any sign of the affection she’d shown towards her daughter. ‘Thank you so much for helping out.’

  He returned her smile. ‘My pleasure.’ To his surprise he realised the words had a ring of truth. He had actually enjoyed the hour of gruelling hard labour with Tara.

  ‘So how did it go?’ Tara’s mother repeated, her eyes still fixed on Ryan, almost challenging.

  ‘You’d better ask your daughter.’

  Tara was positioning herself, ready to climb out onto her chair.

  ‘A bit slow, but we managed.’

  It was hardly a compliment, but the circumstances had been difficult.

  ‘Good. Have you two got time for some breakfast? I’ve got scrambled eggs ready to cook. It’ll only take five minutes.’

  Country hospitality obviously outweighed her reticence to accept Ryan and all the baggage he still carried involving the Fielding family. The thought of fresh-cooked eggs had Ryan’s mouth watering, but he looked across at Tara to see if she approved.

  ‘Have you got time?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll make time,’ he said graciously as he climbed out of the truck and hoisted the wheelchair from the back.

  ‘Good.’ Jane turned to go back into the house and Ryan found himself alone with Tara again. He wheeled the chair to where she waited, but stopped a few feet away.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

  It was a simple question, but it was enough to unleash an unexpected flow of raw emotion in Ryan; as if a dam had burst. She looked so beautiful—a smudge of dirt smeared on her neck, her hair enchantingly dishevelled, clothes damp with sweat. She smelled of fresh milk, hay and wholesomeness.

  But now was not the time to tell her everything was the matter. He wanted to hold her in his arms, kiss her senseless and love her…make love with her. But he knew his thoughts were pure fantasy. He’d had his chance and would have to work hard for a second one.

  He hesitated.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied.

  And all he could do was look away into the distance. What hope did he have of making up for the traumas of the past?

  Very little.

  * * *

  Freshly showered and with a full stomach, Ryan drove back towards Keysdale. He would be late starting his operating session but it couldn’t be helped, and stressing about it wouldn’t change things. None of the three cases were emergencies, and half an hour either way wouldn’t make any difference.

  Huh?

  Stressing about it wouldn’t change things?

  Normally stress was his driving force, but his stress meter had been reset and he felt unusually calm. Pretty damned tired as well, but calm and alert and surprisingly content with the world. The physiological reason was probably to do with the release of endorphins, the body’s happy hormones, after a morning that could be compared to a full-on, two-hour gym workout, or running the City to Surf, or. No, he wouldn’t go there. There was no point in going back to that long-ago place and time when a night of lovemaking with Tara would leave them both breathless and exhausted but somehow renewed.

  He eased his foot onto the brake, slowing down as he approached the intersection of Hill Park Road and the highway. A long-haul, fully loaded prime mover sped by in a cloud of gravel dust as its inside wheels skimmed the road shoulder. It wavered for a moment before finding the blacktop and its stability again.

  In an odd way that was exactly how Ryan felt—wavering close to something precariously dangerous, with an outcome that could go either way. He could play it safe, drive slowly, not take any risks and maintain a professional but friendly distance from Tara. Or he could put his foot down on the accelerator, follow his heart and steamroll into something he had no control over that could easily end in disaster.

  The second option was definitely risky, the first not worth considering. He would just have to look for a middle road. Yes, that was what he would do. Try and get to know Tara again and to understand her life, with its challenges and successes. But it would be up to her. She was the only one who could decide whether to let him into her life again.

  And if she said no?

  Well, he’d deal with that when it happened.

  The effect of the happy hormones was beginning to wear off.

  * * *

  When Ryan arrived at the hospital he quickly changed into crisp green scrubs and emerged from the change rooms to see his first patient being wheeled through into the operating theatre. Dylan Payne was a young mine worker and football player who needed a shoulder reconstruction. Ryan enjoyed surgery and hummed softly as he began the ritual of scrubbing up. A few minutes later, frothy yellow antiseptic running down his forearms, he reversed into the efficient bustle of people preparing for the operation.

  He looked around at the team: the anaesthetist—Jim Fletcher, one of the GPs he’d met briefly the previous day; an anaesthetic technician who doubled as a general helper; a scrub nurse who introduced herself as Kelley;
and a junior nurse named Janine. They all greeted him civilly and he suddenly felt bad about not being punctual.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. But he wasn’t about to explain that his lateness was due to lingering too long over a huge plate of perfectly scrambled eggs with all the trimmings while in the dizzying company of Tara Fielding.

  He could tell they were curious, though, and hoped it was to do with how he performed in the operating theatre—not where he’d spent the night and the early hours of the morning.

  But he was wrong.

  He should have known news spread like wildfire in a town like Keysdale, where the community thrived on knowing everybody else’s business.

  Once Dylan was asleep and Ryan had started prepping the young man’s skin Kelley began the inquisition. At least that was what it felt like.

  ‘The last patient is Dr Fielding’s father?’

  It was a rhetorical question but was a way of letting him know the news was out.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said as brightly as he could. ‘I’ll be internally fixing his scaphoid as well as cleaning up his leg wound and applying a cast with a window over the wound.’

  ‘Mmm…we heard it wasn’t the only emergency you were called out to last night.’ The middle-aged nurse’s eyebrows elevated and her eyes twinkled.

  Ryan was less than impressed by the familiarity the woman assumed. He had no doubt she was referring to his overnight stay with Tara and his subsequent involvement in the milking, but he wasn’t the sort of person to discuss his personal life with a complete stranger.

  ‘Scalpel,’ he said sharply, and was promptly handed the instrument he’d requested as well as sponge-holding forceps loaded with gauze.

  ‘How did Tara and her mother cope?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Was she talking in generalities or specifics? He decided to answer as vaguely as he could and suddenly yearned for the session to be over.

  ‘As well as can be expected. I gather the loss of a skilled pair of hands on a family-run farm like the Fielding’s can be pretty tough.’ He looked across at the nurse and smiled, hoping she registered his expression despite his mask, then continued concentrating on exposing the damaged ligaments and tendons in his young patient’s shoulder. ‘But I imagine in such a close knit community as Keysdale you’ll pull together and help.

  Ryan didn’t wait for Kelley’s reaction. He glanced at the anaesthetist.

  ‘Everything going okay your end?’

  ‘Perfect. Stable obs. What you’d expect with a healthy twenty-year-old.’

  ‘Good.’

  Kelley left Ryan alone after that, and despite her inquisitiveness turned out to be a very capable assistant.

  Though the morning seemed unusually long, the first two cases on Ryan’s theatre list went predictably well. After Dylan an elderly lady was scheduled, with severe deformity and increasing pain from bunions. Ryan removed a piece of bone from her right foot and fixed the straightened bones with a K wire. The relatively simple procedure would make life easier for eighty-seven-year-old Elsie Tanner, who had worked hard in her family’s market garden for most of her life.

  His third and final patient for the morning was, of course, Graham Fielding.

  Ryan had called in to see him briefly before beginning his list and his attitude, though still complaining, was significantly subdued compared to the previous night.

  ‘I only agreed to this because of Tara,’ he’d said gruffly without a scrap of gratitude. ‘And because I haven’t got time to mess around with referrals to the city.’ He’d then lowered his voice and conceded, ‘And Tara said you were a dab hand with the knife.’

  Ryan had laughed inwardly. He appreciated Tara’s confidence in his ability, despite the fact she’d never seen him operate as a fully qualified orthopaedic surgeon.

  Pity.

  As a student she’d always been interested in the procedural side of medicine. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen the rural stream of general practice training—so she would have the skills to do an emergency anaesthetic or remove an inflamed appendix. They’d talked about her assisting him with surgery. But their plans had been quashed. The accident had changed everything.

  But.

  Ryan had the seed of an idea.

  Why couldn’t Tara assist in the OR now?

  Operating often involved standing in one place for the duration of the surgery.

  Surely a chair or stool could be modified for a surgical assistant who didn’t have the use of her legs? After all, she had full use of her hands, and her wheelchair gave her a degree of mobility that amazed him. It could be a way to show her he still cared about her and admired and valued her skills as a doctor. There was also the element of surprise. It was unlikely she’d even think of the possibility of having a useful role in the operating theatre.

  But enough of daydreaming. He had work to do and would have to file away his germ of an idea until another time.

  Graham’s surgery went as well as could be expected. The fracture in his scaphoid—a small bone in the hand notorious for causing long-term problems if a fracture was missed or not treated appropriately—was fixed with a small screw. After his leg wound was thoroughly cleaned, it was dressed, then a plaster cast was applied from his foot to mid-thigh with a window over the wound to allow inspection and dressing. He’d need a more permanent fibreglass walking cast once the swelling settled. Treatment of Graham’s bones had been relatively simple, but the size of the defect in the skin on his shin would almost certainly need a skin graft. That would mean referral to see a plastic surgeon in Bayfield or the city, and Ryan wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to Tara’s father.

  The operating session finally finished at half past one, and he was due to call in to the garage and collect his car any time after midday. Despite the inconvenience, the competence and efficiency of the mechanic had impressed him. After stripping off his gloves and gown he headed towards the change rooms.

  He yawned, suddenly overcome with the kind of satisfying tiredness that came after a job well done. As he changed into civvies his mobile phone rang, and he sighed as he recognised the number.

  ‘Hello, Shannay. What’s up?’

  Whenever his ex-wife rang him while he was working he had a sense of doom. She was usually embroiled in some self-centred mini-crisis that involved off-loading their daughter at short notice. Of course he didn’t mind. He loved Bethany and treasured any extra time he had with her. But sometimes it just wasn’t convenient—like now. He reminded himself he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ she said breathlessly, as if she was in a hurry. ‘I just need to talk. Is it convenient?’

  ‘I guess so.’ He began walking down the corridor towards the hospital exit.

  ‘Right. Well, I have some really good news.’ She paused, as if waiting for a response, but Ryan waited for her to continue. ‘Some fabulous news.’

  He reached the vehicle and opened the door, settling into the driver’s seat to hear Shannay’s fabulous news.

  ‘Yes?’ he finally said, in an endeavour to hurry her up. His stomach gave an impatient growl.

  ‘I went for an interview last month and didn’t think I had a chance but they contacted me this morning. I rang you twice but the dragon who had your mobile said you were operating and you could only be disturbed if it was a life-or-death emergency.’ She giggled and Ryan realised Shannay was still just as immature as when they’d divorced. ‘I thought of making something up.’

  ‘Who? Who contacted you?’

  She’d successfully aroused his curiosity, but he wondered why it was so important to inform him.

  ‘The airline. Trans Jet. I’m sure I told you. I really want to become a flight attendant, you know, before I get too old.

  That was news to him. His heart dropped but he had to ask.

  ‘What about Bethany?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. I have to move to Sydney for training. My hours are goi
ng to be all over the place and I start next weekend. Ah…you’ll have to take her. That’s why I wanted to let you know as soon as I found out—so you’d have time to make arrangements.’

  ‘A week!’ He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice.

  ‘The training’s only for three months. A trial period. And if everything goes okay I might get to be posted back here.’

  ‘Look, I’ll be back tonight and I’ll come round to see you tomorrow.’

  The anger welled in his gut but he didn’t want to get into an argument. With Shannay it always ended in tears, and there was never any satisfactory resolution. He needed time to think.

  He needed time to work out what was best for Bethany.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RYAN wasn’t sure whether to grin or snarl. He’d been to see Shannay and was bitterly disappointed he’d been denied the pleasure of seeing his daughter. Beth was away on a play date with one of her young friends.

  But the visit had definitely been worthwhile. Despite what he could only construe as a misguided attempt by Shannay to seduce him, he’d gleaned the information he needed.

  Yes, Shannay was packing her bags and moving to Sydney in a week’s time.

  No, there was definitely no alternative to Ryan taking over his daughter’s care.

  Yes, of course Shannay would miss the lively four-year-old, but it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

  And, yes, Ryan would find some way of caring for his daughter, even if it meant taking time off work.

  The icing on the cake was that he’d negotiated to apply for full custody of Beth, and to his surprise Shannay had offered little resistance. She was focused on the present and her own needs, and was as self-interested as when they’d divorced. Their ten-year age difference seemed more pronounced than it had ever been.

  Ryan put on a soothing classical CD and made himself a strong cup of coffee.

  He closed his eyes. He’d do it, but he wasn’t exactly sure how.

  * * *

  ‘Can I have a quiet word with you, Tara?’ Rob Whelan said in his usual calm but assertive voice.