‘Is there room in your life for anyone else to love you?’

Ryan knew he was moving too fast but he had to know. If she said no without hesitation then he might as well give up. Tara could be stubborn, and if she made up her mind about something it was extremely difficult to change it.

But she hadn’t answered.

Her cheeks were pink and she was looking at a point somewhere on the opposite wall. He moved a little closer to her and grasped her hand.

She refocused and mesmerised him with her deep grey-blue eyes. Was it desire he saw in their depths?

‘You mean you?’ she finally said.

‘Yes.’

Tara leaned across, rested her head on Ryan’s shoulder and sighed.

‘Oh, Ryan. Why did you have to come back? I had my future mapped out. I thought I was as happy as I could be. And I honestly can’t think of love. Not now. It’s too hard.’

Ryan gently stroked her silky hair and resisted the temptation to put words into her mouth. She had to say it.

He waited …

Dear Reader

I was born and bred in the city, but have spent nearly two decades living and working in the country. During that time I’ve come to know many true heroes and heroines who have done the best they can to make a go of it on the land. In this story I have tried to impart a sense of the struggle many country people have to deal with as a backdrop to the romance between Ryan, a city orthopaedic surgeon, and Tara, a country GP.

Their journey takes them from a life-changing event in the past, and having to deal with the fall-out of that event, finally to a future full of love, hope and impossible dreams come true.

I hope you enjoy this story.

Leonie K

PS I love to hear from my readers and you can contact me via my website: www.leonieknight.com

About the Author

Originally a city girl, LEONIE KNIGHT grew up in Perth, Western Australia. Several years ago, with her husband, two young sons and their Golden Retriever, she moved south to a small rural acreage located midway between dazzling white beaches and the magnificent jarrah forest of the Darling Scarp. Now her boys have grown and left home, and the demands of her day job have lessened, she finds she has more time to devote to the things she loves—gardening, walking, cycling, reading and, of course, writing. She has spent most of her adult life working in first a suburban and then a rural general medical practice. That combined with the inspiration she gets from her real-life hero makes it only natural that the stories she writes are Medical Romances.

Recent titles by the same author:

HOW TO SAVE A MARRIAGE IN A MILLION

SUDDENLY SINGLE SOPHIE

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Doctor,
His Daughter
and Me

Leonie Knight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Many thanks to Heather and Ian, retired dairy farmers

and a wonderfully generous couple,

who helped me with the details of life on a farm.

Also for Shellee and Margaret.

You are truly inspirational.

PROLOGUE

DR TARA DENNISON closed her eyes, took several deep breaths and tried to relax as the physio’s thumbs dug deep into both sides of her neck. She was close to tears but it had nothing to do with the massage. She’d decided she couldn’t put it off any longer. She would tell Ryan tonight. And then they would both be free … free of the guilt, anguish and pain that held them together in a fragile relationship that had mercilessly sapped the strength from both of them over the past three months.

‘Ouch,’ she said as the pressure on her spine amplified and teetered on the edge of pain.

‘You’re tenser today than you usually are. Is there anything wrong? Soreness anywhere?’

Tara opened her eyes. She definitely wasn’t about to reveal that everything was wrong. That she loved her husband so much there was no way she could deny him the future he deserved—the loving perfect wife, sexual fulfilment, the children he’d always wanted …

‘No, I’m fine. I think I may have overdone it in the gym yesterday. Perhaps we could call it quits now?’

‘Good idea. I’ll catch up with you in the pool tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Yes, the pool …’

But before she had time to finish her sentence the physio had left, and a few minutes later she heard familiar footsteps heading towards her room. Her heart did a somersault and landed squarely in the pit of her stomach.

Now.

She’d made up her mind. She would definitely tell him now.

Ryan felt good. The time was right. He clutched an enormous bouquet of delicately scented yellow roses in one hand and the list he’d laboured over for the past week in the other. With the information he had, and Tara’s all-time favourite flowers, how could she possibly refuse?

But when he reached her room, drew back the curtain and saw the expression on her face, he began to have doubts.

‘Hi, beautiful.’ He placed the flowers on the bedside table, leaned forward and kissed his wife on the mouth, holding the simple but intimate connection for as long as he could. Her mouth was immobile, her lips cool, and when he finally drew away her sombre expression flattened his mood like a burst balloon.

‘What’s the matter?’

She was looking at the roses as if he’d given her a bunch of stinging nettles.

‘I have something I want to tell you.’

‘That’s great.’ His gentle smile did nothing to thaw the icy expression on Tara’s face. ‘I have something to tell you too.’

Some of his previous joy at finally tying up all the loose ends of his plan that would give them the chance of a rosy future returned. His love for Tara had never waned. They had survived a horrific accident and were both miraculously alive; he’d been there every step of the way through the lengthy and arduous rehabilitation programme; he’d supported her through bouts of debilitating depression and he’d found a way for them to live out the happily-ever-after of their dreams. If she’d just let him explain …

‘I’ll go first.’ The list he had made seemed redundant now, but he knew once she’d realised they weren’t stuck in an inescapable rut …

‘No, Ryan. Let me.’

Her eyes, which were usually wide open windows to her feelings, were shuttered.

‘Okay,’ he said slowly as he reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

‘I want a divorce.’

Ryan shook his head in disbelief. Just when there was a possibility they could get their lives back on track? Had he heard wrong?

‘No!’ The word came out more forcefully than he’d planned. ‘Sorry,’ he added, and this time Tara let him hold her hand. She was shaking.

‘Why?’

She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye.

‘Because I’m disabled, Ryan. I’m a different person to the perfect woman you married. I think and feel differently and I could never be a mother to your children—’

‘But …’ He squeezed Tara’s hand tight. ‘But none of that matters … if we love each other.’

Tara looked away and shifted restlessly in her hospital bed.

‘Tara? Love … it’s what has sustained us through the bad times as well as the good.’

Tara’s gaze swung back to Ryan. She sighed.

‘That’s the problem, Ryan. I don’t love you any more. And I can’t live in a loveless marriage.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I want a divorce and I’m not going to change my mind.’

CHAPTER ONE

Eight years later.

RYAN DENNISON wasn’t trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation, just delaying it. He circled the car park looking for an inconspicuous space from where he’d still have full view of the entrance to the clinic.

How long had it been since he’d seen Tara? He did a quick mental calculation. It was nearly eight years. Back then, he’d told her he was prepared to be there for her all the way, no matter the sacrifices. He’d had a workable plan for their future. But she’d insisted she wanted a divorce. He thought he’d found a way to overcome all their problems but he’d had no answer to her simple statement: I don’t love you any more. And she’d been right; they couldn’t stay together in a marriage without mutual love.

After several weeks of agonising self-doubt, guilt and pleading with Tara, she’d held her ground and become more distant as time went on. He knew her grief had been as gut-wrenching as his, but she hadn’t seemed to understand the anguish he’d suffered at being pushed away, at having to endure years of remorse.

Yes, he’d agreed to end their marriage, but his heart still bore the scars of being rejected by the woman he’d loved with his whole being. His attempts to contact her by e-mails and phone calls in the first few years had been ignored, as if she’d been frightened of having any communication with him. His phone calls to her home phone had always been coldly blocked by her parents, who’d told him their daughter didn’t want to talk to him, and she must have recognised his mobile number as his texts and calls went unanswered. In the end he’d stopped trying.

No one was to blame.

Well, that was what he’d kept telling himself—until the words almost lost their meaning.

But Tara’s parents didn’t believe it and he suspected Tara nursed doubts as well.

He parked the car and then glanced at his watch—four twenty-five. He’d done his homework. She finished at four-thirty but he’d come prepared for a wait. She would be busy, popular and almost certainly run overtime. Scanning the cars in the disabled section, he came to the conclusion hers would be the people-mover—the only vehicle big enough to take an electric wheelchair and be fitted with the gadgetry for a paraplegic driver.

Paraplegic … Oh, God, if only things had been different. Despite his outward calm he still had nightmares, replaying the horrors of that terrible evening. In the past week he’d woken nearly every night in a lather of torment, grief and with a vivid image of twisted metal. It was a painful reminder of how he was feeling about seeing his ex-wife again.

He took a sip of bottled water to cool the burning dryness in his throat.

He couldn’t change the past. Now he was going to be working in the same building with her he hoped she’d at least talk to him. But unless she’d had a turnaround in her personality she’d be stubborn and cling fiercely to her independence. The fact she’d finished her training and found a job was testament to her determination. She didn’t need—or want—him any more. She’d made that clear when they parted.

The guilt stabbed painfully again.

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them he saw her, just as beautiful as she’d been the day he’d met her. The years had been kind to her. Her strawberry-blonde hair, streaked with gold, was cut shorter, so it fell in tapered wisps to her shoulders. He could see her arms were muscular and her shoulders a little broader than he remembered, but it didn’t detract from her femininity. Grimacing with concentration, she skilfully manoeuvred to the driver’s side of the vehicle, opened the door and positioned the wheelchair so she could haul herself into the driver’s seat. Then she smiled and said something to the young woman accompanying her, who opened the rear door and put the chair on a hoist which lifted it into the luggage space. The woman waved as she returned to the building and Tara reversed and drove slowly away.

What now?

He’d seen her. That had been pleasure, not pain. But he still had to speak to her. Tell her he was soon starting sessional work in the specialist rooms attached to her practice. What a strange turn of fate that the position of visiting orthopaedic surgeon had come up in Keysdale, of all places. As the most junior partner in his practice, without any country attachments, he’d been offered the job and been expected to take it. Initially he’d had doubts, as it would mean bringing up traumas of the past he’d thought he’d laid to rest, but after thinking long and hard he’d realised it might be a way of achieving closure to confirm Tara had no feelings for him.

And now he was back, and he didn’t want to present her with any nasty surprises like approaching her in the car park. It would have to be at her home—her parents’ home. He cringed at the thought of a reunion with the two people he’d believed had liked him and approved of his marriage to their only daughter. But after the accident they’d not bothered to hide their abhorrence of him. They’d blamed him and then callously ignored him. Or at least her father had.

If there was any other way …

He decided to have a coffee in one of the cafés in the main street, go through in his mind what he would say, and then drive the ten kilometres out of town to the Fielding farm. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

‘Is Dad still working?’ Tara asked as her mother helped her into her wheelchair.

‘Yep, but he should be here any minute. He’s been fixing fences down near the creek and said he’d finish the job after milking.’ Jane Fielding closed the back of the car and followed her daughter towards the homestead.

‘How was your day, love?’ her mother asked, as she did every afternoon when Tara came home from work. Tara loved her mother dearly, but sometimes felt smothered by her protectiveness and yearned for a home of her own.

But Tara was realistic; leaving the family home wasn’t practical. She’d need a purpose-built unit and help from an able-bodied person for things that most people took for granted—like transferring to her chair, shopping in a supermarket, hanging out washing or gaining access to immediate help in an emergency. Of course there were ways around these difficulties, but even the most basic tasks took longer when you were confined to a wheelchair. She’d have to rethink her schedule to incorporate cooking, housework, washing and ironing—all the things her mother did without complaint. Her life wasn’t perfect, but it was a better option than moving out on her own. She was used to the routine. And her parents had made sacrifices, including nearly losing the farm, to cater for her needs and extra expenses in the early years. She would probably never be able to repay them.

‘Oh, you know—the same as usual; nothing out of the ordinary.’ She parked next to the kitchen bench where her mother began preparing a late afternoon tea.

A moment later she heard the sound of her father’s boots being flung into the corner of the veranda near the back door.

‘I’m home,’ he shouted unnecessarily. You’d have to be deaf as a farm gate not to notice his comings and goings. Her mother always said it was a man thing—slamming doors, throwing things like a ball to a hoop and stomping around like an army major.

‘We’re in the kitchen. Tara’s just come home and I’m making tea.’

‘Rightio.’

Tara laughed. The word was so old-fashioned but suited her father perfectly.

Jane put fresh-brewed tea and a plate of orange cake on the bench as Graham Fielding entered the room.

‘Have you washed your hands?’ Tara’s mother was quick to ask—as she always did when Graham came in from working on the farm.

‘Yes, I’ve washed my hands,’ he said as he held them up for inspection, before kissing Tara on her forehead. ‘How’s my best girl?’

Tara frowned. She hated the way her father often treated her as if she was still his little girl.

‘Fine, Dad.’ She reached for her cup of tea as her mother passed the cake. ‘How did you go with the fences?’

‘All done, but I won’t move the cows until after milking tomorrow morning.’

‘Want a hand?’

Though she was quite able to handle a quad bike to get around the farm, and knew the routine of milking back to front, she guessed her father would say no. As he always did. She was sure she could manage most of the work from her wheelchair with a simple modification to raise her height. She’d developed strength in her arms and shoulders to rival any man’s.

But her father had refused to let her near the dairy after the accident. He didn’t seem to understand that her help would give him more time for the heavier work that neither Tara nor her mother could manage. For him, there was a non-negotiable line between men’s and women’s work that she’d almost given up trying to cross. His one concession was letting her mother help out now they could no longer afford to hire a dairyman.

‘No, love. It won’t take long, and you deserve your free time on the weekends.’

He had good intentions but was seriously lacking in subtlety. Another one of those man things, as her mother would say. He had no idea, though. She hardly needed to keep a social diary. Her life had settled into a comfortable equilibrium of work, home and the occasional outing to the shops or the pool at the physio’s in Bayfield, fifty kilometres away. And at the end of her working days she hardly had any energy left to party.

Their conversation was interrupted by a car pulling up at the front of the house.

‘Are you expecting visitors?’ Graham glanced at his wife.

‘Might be Audrey. She said she’d come round some time this week to return those preserving jars. But she usually drives around the back.’

A car door slammed and a few moments later there was a crisp knock on the front door. ‘I’ll go and see who it is,’ she added.

Graham stood up, an imposing thick-set man of six foot three. ‘No, I’ll go. You get another cup of tea poured.’

Tara heard her father talking, but not what he was saying. She could tell he was angry by the sharp rise and fall of his voice. The visitor was male, that was all she could tell, and clearly unwelcome.

‘Doesn’t sound like Audrey,’ her mother said with eyebrows raised.

They stilled at the sound of the front door slamming and her father clomping, barefoot, down the passage.

‘Who’s that?’ Jane asked. She’d already poured a cup of tea for the visitor and looked disappointed.

‘You don’t want to know.’ He scowled and shifted his gaze to Tara. ‘It’s Ryan.’

It took Tara a few moments to process the information.

‘Ryan?’ The word escaped as a husky whisper and didn’t require an answer. She’d tried to put her feelings for her ex-husband on hold since their dramatic parting, but rarely a day went by without her thinking of him, dreaming of what life could have been if she’d not rejected him so coldly. She’d made the right decision, though. She’d heard Ryan had married again and started a family. She was happy for him.

But she’d never stopped loving him.

So she’d have to make sure she remained cool and detached and not let her true feelings show.

But why was he here? And why now? She felt her heart pumping as a film of sweat broke out on her forehead. She felt winded.

After all these years!

She took a deep breath and attempted a steady voice. Both her parents were looking at her, waiting for her reaction. She tried to restore her usual calm.

‘Ryan Dennison?’

The angry fire in her father’s eyes answered her question.

‘He’s waiting outside, insisting he talks to you, says he won’t go until he’s seen you.’ He paused as if gauging her reaction. ‘I’ll send him away—even if it means running him off the property with the shotgun—’

‘No, Dad, I’ll see him.’ Though the last person she wanted to see was her ex, she knew her father wasn’t joking about the gun. ‘I’ll go outside. There’s no need for him to come in.’

He seemed to accept her suggestion as a sign of her disapproval of her ex-husband and conceded.

‘All right, but you be careful.’

Tara wasn’t sure what her father meant.

At the time of their separation her thoughts had been clouded by the devastation of losing so much—the use of her legs, her career, the baby they’d so desperately wanted to make their family complete.

Ryan had had his whole life to live. She hadn’t wanted to take that away from him. He’d just started his specialist training in orthopaedics—his dream career. If he’d become her full-time carer, as he’d said he would, the future they’d planned before the accident would have been shattered. She’d felt she had little choice, especially in the early days when the pain had been so acute, and in retrospect she’d probably been depressed, not capable of making rational decisions. Back then there’d been no way she could have deprived Ryan of his dreams of a career, a happy marriage to a healthy wife and the children he had wanted so much.

The best thing had been to divorce. It had been easier that way. She hadn’t wanted to find out if Ryan was capable of coping with living with a woman who was disabled. He’d always described her as perfect in every way.

But she wasn’t perfect any more, not since the crash, and her scars were more than just physical. Yes, the sadness and pain, both physical and emotional, had lessened as the years passed, but memories still lingered of the man she’d loved with every part of her heart and soul.

Why was he here? The thought tumbled into her mind again.

She felt light-headed as she opened the door and the familiar clawing of panic descended like thick smog. Her heart began to pound and she gagged on the taste of bile at the back of her throat. A shard of irrepressible fear mixed with long-suppressed hurt stabbed at her heart and threatened to take control of her mind.

She stopped in the doorway and began taking slow, deep breaths.

‘What’s the matter, Tara? Are you all right? You look pale.’

For a long moment she’d been so preoccupied with losing control in front of Ryan she’d forgotten where she was. By now it was too late. A man she hardly recognised crouched in front of her. This was a successful man in his mid-thirties, with thick brown hair clipped short, clean-shaven and dressed in a conservative charcoal-grey suit, white shirt and silver tie. He looked nothing like the relaxed young man she remembered.

She was beginning to feel normal again, but couldn’t bring herself to smile. Her emotions were too raw. She felt the slowing of her heartbeat and the fuzziness clearing from her head.

He still had the same deep blue eyes, though, and right now they were full of concern.

‘I’m fine,’ Tara replied. She hated the fact she’d let down her guard and revealed how vulnerable she could be before they’d even said hello. ‘I just get a bit light-headed sometimes. It never lasts for more than a few minutes.’ The tension in Ryan’s face relaxed. ‘Dad said you wanted to talk to me.’

Ryan stood up with an expression that was almost but not quite a smile.

Damn his charisma and amazing good looks. She was determined not to expose her emotions, though. He mustn’t know she still had feelings for him, but already she knew the spark was still there.

At least he wasn’t focused on her humiliating physical response to him. But that was the thing with panic attacks. She’d thought she had them beat but they could be triggered by the most unexpected and sometimes insignificant things.

‘There’s something I thought you needed to know.’

Her confidence was coming back.

‘I’d better sit down.’ Tara had become used to making jokes about her condition, to break the ice for people who weren’t comfortable with her disability, but this time it didn’t work. The frown on Ryan’s face was set in stone.

‘You’d better sit down, then.’ She pointed towards an old swing seat suspended from the rafters. She now felt calm and in charge of the emotions which had threatened to be her undoing a few moments ago.

‘Do you need any help?’

‘No.’

She set the chair in motion and forced him to move out of the way. Finally he sat down on the swing opposite her chair.

‘So, what is it you want to talk to me about that’s so important you were prepared to brave Dad and his threat to run you off the property?’

Ryan smiled.

But it didn’t last long.

‘He said that?’

‘Mmm, he did.’ She paused a moment, wondering how much of the past she could raise without ramping up the tension that already buzzed in the air between them. On reflection, she realised she had nothing to lose. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress Ryan, and he was well aware of her parents’ dislike for him.

Ryan gazed into her eyes and she jolted at the unexpected connection. The feeling was from the past—something that had been exclusive to them alone—an understanding that she and Ryan had used to consider a sign of their closeness.

But it served no purpose now. She wasn’t going to reveal how she really felt.

He finally spoke.

‘I’m going to be working down here. I start in two weeks in the new specialist rooms attached to your clinic.’

He stared, as if trying to gauge her reaction. And she produced the goods in the form of a violent blush. Her heart began to race again, but she was determined to keep her cool despite the overwhelming shock of his revelation.

‘I thought it was better for you to know in advance, rather than just bumping into me at work one day.’

She swallowed and concentrated on the calm evenness of her breathing.

‘You could’ve easily phoned.’ She wondered at his motives. She’d not heard from this man for nearly six years—

since he’d finally got the message she didn’t want to be reminded of the past by his e-mails and calls. All she knew of him was through the medical grapevine—he was a successful orthopaedic surgeon, three years after they broken up he had remarried, and the last she’d heard he was overseas.

‘I wanted to see you …’

Tara found that hard to believe.

‘Why?’ That gnawing pain in her heart that visited her every day was demanding an answer. Anger surfaced unexpectedly. ‘Were you frightened of what you might see?’

Ryan looked genuinely hurt—a totally unanticipated reaction. She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but her emotions were ruling what came out of her mouth.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

‘No … You’re absolutely right. I should have phoned. I didn’t realise seeing you without warning would upset you.’ His pupils dilated, which made their rim of blue the colour of bright sky reflected in black ice. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising.’

She still wasn’t quite sure why he’d gone to the trouble of driving all the way to Keysdale and then out to the farm. It wasn’t the sort of visit a person would plan on the offchance. She suddenly felt resentful that he’d upset the ordered balance of her life.

He looked down at his hands clasped in his lap and said quietly, ‘How are your parents?’

It was a question she wasn’t expecting. She thought a moment before replying.

‘You’re not part of our lives any more. I’d describe Mum’s attitude to you as ambivalent, and Dad … well … you saw what he was like when he answered the door. But I don’t think they actually hate you. It’s what happened—the accident—they both still blame you for that.’

Ryan reached for Tara’s hand but she snatched it away. Seeing him was traumatic enough. She didn’t want any physical contact because … because she wasn’t sure how she’d react. The old desire she thought she’d buried long ago was still there. It frightened her.

‘And you?’

Tara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was hurting. Why was Ryan trawling through what had happened so long ago? No one was to blame for the accident. He was a good driver and had done what most people would have—tried to avoid their collision with a kangaroo. With devastating consequences. Her situation was a cross she had chosen to bear without him, and up until ten minutes ago she’d been managing perfectly okay.

She opened her eyes but didn’t look at Ryan.

‘You know I’ve never held you responsible.’ She sighed. ‘It happened, it was regrettable, but I’m over it and I think you should be too.’

Ryan brushed a piece of fluff from his sleeve.

‘Of course you’re right,’ he said. ‘But it isn’t enough to stop me feeling it was my fault. Can you understand how difficult it is for me to see you like …?’ The words seemed to stick in his throat and he swallowed.

Tara looked into the distance, trying to take on board what Ryan was saying. He was hurting too.

Neither of them could ever forget the crash and its aftermath, and sometimes Tara thought Ryan had been more damaged than she. His dreams had been blown apart—his career, the life they’d planned together, the children they’d so desperately wanted. They’d talked about her completing her GP training part-time. She’d been off the pill for a couple of months and the heartbreaking irony was that her period had been a week overdue. She’d planned on doing a home pregnancy test the following week, but the day after the accident she’d bled … and bled … and bled …

Another tragic loss.

It had been as if her lifeblood had drained from her, but she’d always put on a brave face.

Of course they both knew she was still physically capable of conceiving and bearing children. She’d assumed she was no longer sexually attractive to him, though, and even if she did have a child she would need help to look after it. With the long hours Ryan worked she would be effectively a single parent. Combined with her disability, the whole scenario was unworkable.

To her alarm, she was close to tears. She needed to change the direction of the conversation.

‘So you’ll be doing sessional work, I guess?’

He also seemed grateful for the change of subject.

‘I’ll be operating on Thursdays and consulting Fridays, with the option to do an extra theatre session on alternative Saturday mornings. I’ll stay overnight.’

‘Where are you planning to stay?’ she asked, purely out of curiosity.

‘I thought one of the motels. But if you can suggest anything better?’

She thought for a moment.

‘The Riverside is the best of the three motels in town. It’s off the highway and not far from the clinic.’ That was all the advice she was prepared to give.

‘Right. I’m staying over tonight, so I can check out the consulting rooms and meet with the manager to go through all the paperwork tomorrow morning. I can book in to the motel you suggested. I plan to head back about lunchtime.’

To his wife.

Tara wondered what she would think of her husband working away. But she certainly wasn’t going to delve into his personal life.

‘Can I pick you up and take you out to lunch before I leave?’

No way! What on earth was he thinking?

Tara tried not to let her disbelief show on her face and mustered a smile.

‘No, thanks, I’m busy all day tomorrow,’ she lied. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be keen to get home to your wife and family.’

‘Pardon?’

Hadn’t he heard her or didn’t he understand?

‘You’ll surely want to get home,’ she repeated.

‘To my wife and kids?’

Tara nodded.

‘That’s what I thought you said.’ His brow crinkled in a frown. ‘Of course—I shouldn’t have assumed you’d know.’

‘Know what?’

‘Shannay and I divorced over a year ago and she has custody of our daughter.’

He was waiting for a reaction but what did he expect? Should she express regret at the breakdown of his second marriage? This was too much for her to deal with. She’d had the idea, set in her mind, that Ryan would find the perfect woman, that he would have the perfect family. But divorce! It had never been in the equation.

‘Sorry,’ she finally said. ‘I heard you’d married again, but—’

‘To separate was the best option for both of us. We weren’t compatible and it wasn’t working out,’ he muttered.

He stood to leave. He was obviously uncomfortable talking about it.

‘I’ll get going, then,’ he added.

‘Yes. I work Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. so I’ll probably bump into you when you start your Friday sessions.’

Before she had a chance to recoil he leaned down and placed a brief kiss on her cheek, and his questioning eyes lingered on hers for a moment before he strode down the steps and headed for his car.

He’d certainly changed, but in a lot of ways was still the same Ryan Dennison she’d fallen in love with. That was all in the past, though, dead and buried.

But he was single.

Of course that didn’t alter anything, did it?

Seeing Tara again was like a rebirth.

Ryan had to deal with all the raw emotion, the painful memories, the turmoil of indecision he’d held inside for so long. To overcome the reality of the wretched, haunting past that intruded into his dreams, that followed him during every waking hour of every day, was a challenge he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Did he blame himself?

How could he not?

He’d had control, he’d been at the wheel and his reflex reaction had resulted in the horrendous collision that had left Tara without the use of her legs.

The moment he’d realised Tara’s future had been snatched away from her he’d desperately wanted to turn back the clock. If he’d seen the kangaroo twenty seconds earlier, if he’d reacted faster, if the massive tree had been a few metres further along the road, if they’d left the party ten minutes earlier, if he hadn’t insisted they stop to buy a bottle of wine on the way home, if he could change places with her, if … There were so many ifs he thought he’d dealt with, but deep down he still nursed a guilt that was so sharp, it cut directly into his heart.

Visiting Tara had made him wish he’d tried harder to convince her she’d been more important to him than a career or money or a tribe of kids. He’d felt sure they could pick up the pieces, but had been rejected when Tara had told him her love had dried up. He’d been devastated, but in the end had genuinely believed he’d done what was best for them, what Tara wanted. She’d not wanted to even give him a chance to provide the love and caring he’d thought only he could give. Tara had been determined and immovable in her resolve that getting a divorce was the only way she could put the past behind her.

And, in a way, she’d been right.

She now had a fulfilled life with a satisfying job and she was more beautiful than ever. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had dozens of admirers and could have the pick of the bunch. In fact Ryan was surprised she hadn’t remarried.

But that was her business.

He had no right to interfere with what she’d worked so hard to achieve.

It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d just have to ignore the churning deep in his belly and the ache in his heart and get on with his own life. Thinking that there was even the remotest chance they could get back together was an aberration. Tara’s attitude to him had verified that.

Ryan slowed down as he reached the outskirts of the town. He suddenly felt exhausted. It had been a long day and he’d had an early start, which made the prospect of a hot cup of coffee and a soft bed very attractive.

The Riverside Motel, Tara had said.

He travelled slowly through Keysdale’s sleepy town centre until he saw a sign pointing east towards the river. After about half a kilometre the motel came into view, and he shifted his focus from ruminations about Tara to the practicalities of organising his accommodation for the night.

Two rows of tidy units nestled on the banks of the Keysdale River. Most had views of the lush green paddocks beyond and it was quiet, away from traffic noise and had an air of relaxed tranquillity about it.

He pulled up in front of the office, got out of his black sports car and stretched. He’d done too much driving that afternoon, and his right hip ached from the bursitis he got when he sat for too long. A bell above the office door tinkled as he opened it but there was no one inside. He gazed around, noting the tourist brochures advertising the history museum, a dairy called The Milk Factory, whitewater rafting and half a dozen local restaurants.

He took a double-take and grabbed a leaflet, but before he had a chance to look at it more closely a plump, middle-aged woman emerged from a back room.

She smiled and greeted him.

‘Hello, sir. Do you want a room?’

‘Yes, just for tonight.’ He explained his requirements for regular accommodation and they came to an arrangement.

‘Here’s your key. Your room’s nice and quiet with a wonderful view.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘Dinner is served from six-thirty to eight-thirty and there’s a menu in your room for breakfast orders.’

‘Thank you.’

The woman glanced at the leaflet he was still clutching in his hand.

‘Well worth a visit if you’ve time.’

‘Maybe next time,’ he said as he turned to leave.

‘Enjoy your stay, Mr Dennison.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ he said cheerily, trying to convince himself, but he knew he’d spend most of his spare time soul-searching.

Before he climbed into his car he had a closer look at the brochure.

THE MILK FACTORY.

EXPERIENCE A WORKING DAIRY FARM FIRST HAND

Ten kilometres south of Keysdale, on Hill Park Road.

He scrutinised the photo then unfolded the leaflet.

Open for tours. Devonshire teas.

10 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekends and public holidays

Dairy tours including real-life milking 3 p.m.

Proprietors: Graham and Jane Fielding

He hadn’t even noticed.

There would have been signs. How could he have missed them? He must have been so focused on seeing Tara he’d been oblivious to anything else.

But it made him think.

Were the Fieldings struggling to make ends meet?

Did Tara have to go out to work?

Did the accident have anything to do with their situation?

He felt discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

So much had changed in the years since he’d lost contact with Tara and her family. His ex-wife certainly had.

He drove to his unit, grabbed his briefcase and overnight bag and let himself in. He rummaged in a tiny cupboard above the sink, found a sachet of instant coffee and filled the kettle. When the brew was made, he opened the sliding door which led to the veranda. The setting sun cast long shadows across the river and a cow’s gentle mooing echoed in the quiet. He seemed to have the place to himself.

With time to think.

About Tara.

It was impossible to erase her, and all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her more than a decade ago, from his mind.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and her fighting spirit had not been dulled by circumstance or time.

It suddenly occurred to him that he’d found out what he needed to know—he still loved her.

But he didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about it.

After Ryan left, Tara needed some alone time to gather her thoughts, so she stayed on the veranda and watched a golden sun sink slowly towards the horizon.

Why?

Why now?

She’d mourned her decision to send Ryan away every day. The flame of her love for him still burned brightly, and seeing him again. It was like a dam bursting—as if time had stood still for those eight years and suddenly she was looking into the eyes of the man who, for her, would always be her soul mate.

How should she react?

He was divorced, but there was no way they could start again. She had a satisfying life she’d worked hard to achieve and Ryan had his life in the city. It shouldn’t be difficult to act cool and detached and very professional. After all she would rarely see him.

Yes … cool, detached and professional. She could do that.

Couldn’t she?

CHAPTER TWO

‘THE new orthopaedic surgeon starts today,’ said Kaylee, the young receptionist, as she operated the pneumatic lift that moved Tara’s wheelchair from her vehicle and placed it on the ground. Tara preferred to use her electric chair at work, as it provided greater manoeuvrability, but getting it on and off her vehicle was one of the few things she couldn’t manage herself and had reluctantly learned to live with.

‘I know.’ Tara had been counting the days and psyching herself up for her first meeting with Ryan in the workplace. None of the staff were aware of her history with him. Of course some of the close-knit community knew she’d been married, but Ryan was a city man, born and bred. He’d hated the idea of any kind of fuss and had always been a reluctant participant in their rare visits to the farm. And, the way she was feeling right now, it was a good thing. She didn’t want the burden of gossip to stress her any more than she was already. She certainly wasn’t prepared for a public airing of her past, which she’d spent the best part of the last eight years trying to forget.

Not yet. Not today.

She’d also had time to think about his visit to the farm two weeks ago and had pondered on his motives. In fact she’d questioned long and hard about why he would choose a job in Keysdale when not only did he hate rural life but he probably had the pick of any position he wanted?

The questions burned and she needed some answers … from Ryan.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the young receptionist.

‘And Jenny said he’s gorgeous.’

Kaylee positioned the wheelchair next to the driver’s seat and stood back as Tara used the strength in her arms to shift into it. The girl seemed oblivious to the flush of embarrassment that warmed Tara’s cheeks and prattled on.

‘Jen met him when he came down a couple of weekends ago. She said he’s really nice, as well as good-looking.’

‘What about the paediatrician? Isn’t she starting today as well?’

Tara was desperate to change the subject. She didn’t need to know that her ex-husband had already charmed at least one of the female staff, and probably the whole Saturday morning team.

‘Yeah, this afternoon. Val’s putting on a special lunch to welcome them both, and she’s asked their receptionist not to overbook on the first day so they’ll have time to meet us all.’

‘Oh.’

Tara had prepared herself for the possibility that she’d bump into Ryan at some stage during the day. The brand-new specialist offices, although housed in an extension to the GP clinic building, were separate and self-contained. They had their own reception area, procedure room and consulting suites, but the lunch room was shared. She’d planned to eat a sandwich in her room and catch up with her paperwork, but that wasn’t an option now. She’d be expected to make an appearance, at least.

Kaylee walked beside her as she steered through the self-opening doors and made her way to the busy waiting area, past Reception then to the doctors’ rooms beyond.

‘See you later,’ the teenager said as their paths diverged.

Tara nodded and forced a smile, eager to reach the privacy of her consulting room so she could take a minute or two to compose herself. She’d never had a panic attack at work and she wasn’t about to change that today.

Ryan scanned the room full of chattering staff but couldn’t see Tara. He lingered a moment in the doorway, taking in the table laden with a bounty of home-cooked food, but was soon approached by the principal doctor at Keysdale Medical Clinic, Rob Whelan. The man greeted Ryan with a welcoming grin.

‘I’ll introduce you to the mob, and then you can eat …’ his grin broadened ‘… and mingle.’

Rob reeled off a long list of names Ryan would never remember to associate with the endless stream of nodding, smiling faces. Then, his gaze automatically following his colleague’s, he turned, and it was as if the waters parted. People moved out of the way as Tara wheeled herself into the room with a barely suppressed scowl on her face and rosy colour in her cheeks.

‘And last but not least …’ Rob said, resting his hand lightly on Tara’s shoulder. ‘Dr Tara Fielding.’ He glanced at Ryan. ‘This is Ryan Dennison, our new visiting orthopaedic surgeon.’

Thank God Tara had reverted to her maiden name, averting a possible problem he hadn’t thought of until now.

At that moment Rob’s attention was taken by the timely arrival of Karin Hooper, the new paediatrician. Rob began the introduction ritual all over again, and Ryan was grateful the spotlight had moved away from him and Tara, who was still right next to him, waiting for her turn in the short queue for the food. She reluctantly shook his offered hand as he leaned over to talk to her.

‘I’m glad to finally meet you, Dr Fielding. I’ve heard so much about you.’ It was an attempt at humour to lighten Tara’s mood but he wasn’t sure if it had worked.

She answered him with a cool smile as she released his hand from a momentary grip of steel.

‘Ouch,’ he couldn’t help exclaiming.

‘Sorry.’ She was grinning now but still looked tense … guarded. ‘Sometimes I forget my own strength.’ She picked up two plates and handed one to Ryan, who promptly discarded the fleeting thought of offering to serve her food. He had much to learn.

‘How has your day been so far? Not too snowed under with Keysdale’s unique brand of orthopaedic problems?’ It was inconsequential small talk.

He laughed politely. ‘You mean crush fractures from being stepped on by livestock and strain injuries from overdosing on fencing?’

‘You’ve got the idea.’

While he was talking Ryan watched in wonder as Tara effortlessly multi-tasked, deftly moving her chair into impossibly small spaces while at the same time loading her plate with enough to feed a professional athlete.

She paused a moment and looked at his empty plate.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she asked.

‘Oh … er … yes.’ He stuttered his reply, not prepared to admit he’d been too busy watching her. After shouldering his way through the tightly packed occupants of the small lunch room, he began to select food from the abundance before him. By the time he’d filled his plate Tara had moved to the other side of the room and was deep in conversation with a woman he remembered, from her name tag, was a physiotherapist.

Balancing his plate in one hand, he headed in Tara’s direction but was stopped midway by a tap on his shoulder. He turned.

‘Sorry to desert you,’ Rob Whelan said amiably. ‘I wanted to have a word with you about the possibility of you doing some extra consulting—maybe on the Saturday mornings you’re not operating?’

If Ryan’s appointment book was anything to go by, the services of an orthopaedic surgeon in the town were desperately needed, but he was over-committed as it was.

‘I’m sorry, I’m on call at St Joseph’s one weekend in four, and …’ He hesitated, deciding whether Rob, a relative stranger, needed to know about the custody arrangements he had for access to his daughter. As it was, he only saw her one weekend a month, and that time was precious.

If things had been different … He sighed.

‘And?’ Rob raised his eyebrows, as if he sensed Ryan’s discomfort but his curiosity overrode tact. Maybe it was the country way—that everyone had a God-given right to know everyone else’s business. But it wasn’t Ryan’s way.

‘I have regular family commitments on most of my free weekends.’ His use of the word free was somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but the vague comment was all he was prepared to give at the moment. ‘And I think you’ll find things will settle down in a month or two, once I work through the backlog of referrals and start seeing follow-ups.’

Rob rubbed his chin and pressed his mouth into a thin line.

‘I thought as much.’ The older doctor’s grin reappeared. ‘But, you know, if your situation changes the offer stands.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

At that moment Ryan noticed Tara heading off, and he wanted to talk to her. He felt oddly jilted. But he didn’t have any claim on what she did.

‘If you’ll excuse me, I just want to …’ His voice trailed off as one of the other GPs in the practice cornered Rob Whelan and let Ryan off the hook. Ryan dumped his barely touched food onto the table to follow Tara, but she’d vanished in the space of a few seconds. He went in pursuit and found her room off the corridor leading to Reception.

He knocked quietly but there was no response.

Maybe she hadn’t gone back to her room.

He knocked again, a little louder.

‘Tara?’ He opened the door but her spacious office was empty. He glanced around and noted the modifications that had been made because of Tara’s disability. Shelves and cupboards were no higher than shoulder-height. There were two patients’ chairs but a notable absence of a seat for the doctor. The examination couch was also low, and the pedal that raised or lowered the bed had been modified to accommodate hand controls similar to those used for hospital beds. In fact just about everything in the room was reachable from a wheelchair.

He heard movement from behind a door on the far side of the room, and then the sound of a toilet flushing and water running. The door opened, apparently remote-controlled, and Tara wheeled herself into the room, concentrating on the small joystick that controlled the direction of her chair. She obviously hadn’t seen him as he stood quietly by the door.

He cleared his throat and the muscles of Tara’s shoulders visibly jerked. She scowled as blood rose to her neck and coloured her face.

‘What the—?’

‘Sorry, I knocked. Twice.’ He cleared his throat again.

‘Well, did you want to see me for something?’ Tara said after they’d eyeballed each other for what felt like an age but was probably less than twenty seconds.

‘I …’

What was supposed to be a relaxed greeting and a little ice-breaking chat on his first day working in the Keysdale clinic wasn’t working out the way he’d planned.

‘I just wanted to touch base … er … in a professional capacity, of course.’ He smiled uneasily. It sounded ridiculous now. ‘But you disappeared before I had time to say much more than hello just now.’

Tara tilted her head slightly and the steely look in her eyes blocked any access to what she was thinking. Then the expression on her face softened, as if she’d had a change of mind. It was too much to expect she’d had a change of heart.

‘You took me by surprise,’ she said bluntly. ‘I have a fairly rigid routine at work. It means I can use my time here the most efficiently.’ She hesitated.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

‘You weren’t to know. After all, a good many years have passed since we last saw each other and a lot has happened since then. We’ve both been living our own lives and I’m not the same person I was back then.’

She was unable to hide her quick downward glance. He didn’t blame her for being bitter. Thoughts that had been tumbling through his mind over the last two weeks returned.

If he could change places with her, he would—a hundred times over; if he could turn back the clock; if only things had been different.

He felt totally helpless.

‘Yes.’ It wasn’t often Ryan was lost for words. He was now.

Tara fiddled with some papers on her desk, arranging them in a neat pile. Then she repositioned herself in her chair.

‘Well, while you are here, have you a minute to discuss a patient?’

‘Yes, of course.’

The atmosphere had definitely lightened. The tension of discussing the past evaporated like summer rain falling on hot asphalt.

‘Her name’s Pippa Morgan and I’ve asked her to make an appointment to see you but it could be a couple of weeks down the track. I’ve been told how busy you are, and that you’re booked up for the next month.’

‘Tell me about her.’

Tara swung around to face him.

‘She’s nineteen. Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis was diagnosed when she was six years old. She’s been managed by a rheumatologist from the early stages.’ Tara paused to take a breath. ‘Of course I’ve only known her as a teenager, and she’s been under the care of Liam Taylor for the past two years. She’s had just about every treatment in the book to control her pain and inflammation—non-steroidal anti-inflammatories, Prednisone, Methotrexate, a trial of a DMARD as well as joint injections.’

Ryan had treated many patients with the inflamed and sometimes deformed joints of the chronic rheumatic condition rheumatoid arthritis, but rarely saw children or young adults with the disease. Treatment by surgery was usually kept in reserve for when all else failed. And the bulk of his experience had been with the middle-aged and elderly.

‘Liam’s one of the best adult rheumatologists around.’

‘It was he who suggested she may need a hip replacement in the next year or two.’

‘And you want my opinion?’

‘That’s right.’

Their conversation was interrupted by Ryan’s mobile phone. He answered the call from his receptionist.

‘Sorry, there’s an emergency. A child with what sounds like displaced fractures of tib and fib.’ He looked at his watch and noted his busy afternoon consulting was due to start as well. ‘I’m going to have to go.’

‘Of course.’

‘We’ll talk about Pippa later.’ He paused in the doorway on his way out. ‘I’ll ring you.’

As Ryan strode down the corridor he tried to file thoughts of Tara Fielding deep in the back of his mind so he could focus totally on his work.

‘I’m taking two patient files with me tonight. Also, would you mind checking if we have a referral letter for a nineteen-year-old named Pippa Morgan—and have you typed out the theatre list for tomorrow?’ Ryan glanced at the wall clock behind his receptionist, eager to leave. He’d had an early start and a long day.

Liz extracted a file from the cabinet and leafed through a dozen sheets of paper before she found the letter Ryan had asked for.

‘Here it is. I’d have remembered if I’d scanned it into the computer records because I’d have made a file for her.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll just do you a photocopy.’

The efficient middle-aged woman smiled. She was a Keysdale local, and today was the first time he’d met her, but she’d certainly proved her worth. She seemed to have the ability to think and act one step ahead of him.

‘So you don’t trust me to return it?’

‘I’m sure you have the best of intentions but I know how busy doctors are.’

‘And it might get overlooked?’ He returned her smile.

‘Something like that.’ She handed him the copy of the letter as well as the theatre list, and jotted down the names of the patient files he’d laid on the counter. ‘And there’s one more thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said as she turned and headed for the back room, returning with a loaded plastic carry-bag. ‘You won’t need to think about what to eat this evening. There was so much food left over from the welcome party, and the girls didn’t want to waste it. Someone noticed you rushed off without touching your lunch so they thought you were a worthy recipient.’

Ryan took a quick peek in the bag and noted there was enough food to last for the next week.

‘Thanks, that’s a really kind thought, but I can’t possibly eat all of this.’

‘It’ll only get thrown away, so you might as well take it.’ He took the bag.

‘Okay, thanks, Liz. I’ll see you next week, then.’

When he arrived in the car park he offloaded the food and his gear in the back seat, climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. But instead of firing on the first turn the engine groaned and his state-of-the-art luxury car gave up.

‘Damn, this is the last thing I need,’ he muttered. He tried again with the same result, wondering if his usually reliable car had been interfered with. ‘The last thing I need …’ he muttered again, trying one more time to fire up the engine.

He phoned his roadside call-out service and was given the number of a local auto repair shop. When the mechanic arrived the news was not good.

During Tara’s busy afternoon every patient seemed to take longer than their allotted time, and at the end of her list she was running nearly an hour late. It was well past five o’clock. If she was running too late her parents worried. She understood why. The accident had fuelled what had become their almost obsessive concern about the safety of their only child, their precious, perfect, beautiful daughter—but it didn’t make her life any easier. No matter how many times she’d tried to persuade them she was capable of looking after herself they still waited up for her when she had the occasional date or night out with her friends. And she had to tell them where she was going, especially if she was driving on her own.

Right now she had to live with it. Tara owed her parents big-time and she didn’t want to cause them any more stress than they already had.

She packed her things in readiness to leave and headed to Reception. When she was barely out of her room Ryan burst through the outside door as if he was being pursued by a pack of rabid dogs. He’d certainly found a novel way of attracting attention.

‘Is there a taxi service in this town?’ he said in a voice laced with frustration and impatience.

Tara wheeled slowly closer, but Ryan hadn’t noticed her and went on without waiting for a reply.

‘My car won’t start. There’s something wrong with the ignition system and it needs to be towed to the local garage to be repaired—’

‘I’ve got some jump leads in my car if that’s any help,’ Jenny offered.

Ryan sighed. ‘I wish … Apparently the computer and security system is so complicated you need an auto electrician to reset and reconnect it, even if it’s simply a flat battery. Which won’t happen until tomorrow.’

Some of the edginess had gone from Ryan’s voice and he looked worn out. He’d obviously had a busy day and it appeared it wasn’t going to get any better.

Tara was at the counter now.

‘I’m just leaving and can drop you off. Taxis here are notoriously unreliable unless you make an advance booking. Where are you staying?’

Ryan looked stunned, as if Tara was the last person he’d expected to see, let alone offer a simple solution to his predicament.

‘Ahh …’

Three sets of eyes were fixed on him, waiting for a reply, and Tara began to wonder if her offer was a mistake.

‘You could help me with my chair.’ Tara was the one to break the uncomfortable silence.

‘I’m at the Riverside. I could probably walk, but I have a lot of gear to transport.’ He hesitated. ‘And it would just be for tonight. A hire car is being delivered to the motel in a couple of hours.’ His expression softened. ‘Thanks, Dr Fielding.’

When they reached her car Tara couldn’t help noticing Ryan’s gaze drift to her legs and then to the hand controls of the car. Suddenly she felt she had something to prove to Ryan—that she could manage perfectly without him. She didn’t want pity, or sympathy, or even admiration. She just wanted her ex-husband to accept her for who she was.

‘What do I need to do to get your chair into the car?’ he said, after he’d moved a couple of plastic crates, his medical case and two supermarket carry-bags from the boot of his now useless car to the back seat of her vehicle.

Good. The practicality of the transfer from chair to car was the perfect diversion from thoughts of Ryan encroaching on her personal space. She wheeled close to the driver’s door, opened it and lifted herself into the seat.

‘When you open the back you’ll see the platform. The controls are hooked onto the driver side just below the window.’

Ryan was already at the rear of the vehicle. He opened the door.

‘Is this it?’ He waved the handpiece.

‘Yes. All you have to do now is press the down arrow button and the platform is programmed to slide out and down to the ground. Simply strap the chair in and press the up button.

‘Ah, yes, I can see it.’

A few seconds later he was at her side. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’

‘Thanks, but I can manage now.’

Tara felt her jaw tighten, and her words did little to disguise her feelings, which were churning around like a newspaper caught in a whirlwind. She’d had no idea being in close proximity to Ryan—alone—would have such an unsettling effect on her. She’d programmed herself to keep him at a distance and now he was sitting a handspan away from her.

At that moment she wondered if she’d made a mistake. She wished she could drive straight home.

But she couldn’t.

Though Ryan was grateful for Tara’s offer to help him out, he got the impression she wished she was anywhere but sitting next to him in her car.

What could he do to help her relax? After all it wasn’t his fault his car had broken down and she’d offered him the lift. She might be taking him back to his motel, but it wasn’t as if he then expected her to sleep with him.

Where had that come from?

The thought did hold some attraction, though. He glanced in her direction and dismissed the idea from his mind. The scowl on Tara’s face suggested she’d more likely suffer being thrown into a pit of deadly snakes than have the slightest physical contact with him.

But why?

He’d been pleasant and polite without being over-friendly. He’d made no demands on her, and he hoped he’d dealt with his ex-wife in a non-confrontational way.

But she’d changed. The openness they’d always shared in their relationship had been replaced by a cautious hesitancy; the love of life she’d had in bucketloads seemed to have dried up; taking risks and trying new things had been supplanted by the rigid routine enforced by her disability. And she certainly wasn’t to blame. No one was to blame. Ryan repeated the words that had become a mantra in the months following the accident.

No one was to blame.

Did Tara believe that?

He truly wanted to find out and, if the barriers were still up, shielding the intimacy they’d had in the past, then maybe he should just try for friendship. Now he had seen her again he knew he at least needed to talk to her. And perhaps he had the ideal opportunity tonight. After all, the worst that could happen was that she’d simply refuse, and he could live with that.

They were pulling into the driveway of the motel so he didn’t have much time.

‘I really appreciate you helping me out, Tara. Can I repay you for the lift?’

‘Pardon?’ She glanced briefly in his direction before bringing the car to a halt in front of the office.

‘I want to repay you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her stare was ice-cool.

‘Liz gave me some leftovers from lunch and I have way too much to eat myself. Would you like to share them with me?’

The stare turned into a frown and then she looked straight ahead, moving the gearstick from ‘Park’ to ‘Reverse’.

‘Which unit is yours?’

Any kind of thaw seemed a long way away, and Ryan accepted the fact he’d just been handed a refusal. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

But then her expression changed. Still cool but the ice was melting.

‘Okay. I have that patient I mentioned earlier I wanted to discuss with you. Would you mind—?’

‘Of course not.’ Ryan had the feeling he had nudged a little closer to first base.

And what could be more innocent than two colleagues discussing a patient over a bite to eat? Tara shouldn’t feel threatened by that. Ryan’s face broke into a smile as he realised what he’d thought was going to be a gloomy end to his long day had the potential to shine.

CHAPTER THREE

PART of the reason for Tara’s decision to share a meal with Ryan was because over the last two weeks, since he’d catapulted back into her life, she’d been thinking about him constantly. She also had some questions she needed answering, and it wasn’t the sort of discussion that could take place in the lunch room at the clinic.

Her all-consuming concern was … why?

Why was he back when she’d worked so hard to make her life as good as it could be without him?

Why had he accepted a job in Keysdale when he could choose any job he wanted?

Why had he married, fathered a child and then divorced a few short years later?

And the last question she could only answer herself—why did she care so much when she’d thought she was well and truly over him?

She tried to rationalise by telling herself it was perfectly reasonable that she held a gnawing suspicion about his motives. But were those emotions that were surfacing from another time in her life an indication she still had feelings for her ex-husband?

It scared her.

She was also annoyed that her balanced, well-ordered world was beginning to tilt on its axis a little. Her life was complicated enough as it was and she didn’t need any more problems.

To clear the air she definitely needed to at least talk to Ryan, so she could clarify her own feelings. All she knew now was that the man sitting next to her with a genuine smile on his face, had forced her to revisit a time when she’d been married to the only man she’d truly loved. While he’d been married to a stranger, settled more than two hundred kilometres away and living the life she’d always hoped he’d have, she’d overcome the pain and uncertainty of wondering if he sincerely believed, as he’d told her a hundred times after the accident, she was more important than anything else in his life.

Ryan cleared his throat as he opened the car door and she wondered if he’d been watching her.

‘I’ll get your chair and then I’ll unload all my stuff.’

‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, forcing a smile.

Ryan was a quick learner. In just a few minutes he had the chair where she could easily transfer into it and was rummaging in the back of the car, unpacking his bags and boxes.

‘Would you mind carrying the food?’

‘Fine.’ He definitely did learn fast, and was doing his best not to make a big thing of what Tara couldn’t do and focusing on what she could.

After locking the vehicle, Tara propelled herself to the small entry of Ryan’s unit and waited while he unlocked the door, went inside and turned on the lights. She cast a quick glance around the compact living-dining area and noted that her host was obviously not expecting guests. The small desk in one corner was littered with papers and a large overnight bag decorated the single settee. She could see jeans and a couple of tee shirts strewn on the bed, with a cup and a juice box sitting on the bedside table. At least the bathroom door was closed. She didn’t want to conjure up any thoughts of Ryan that tipped outside the boundaries she’d decided to impose for any contact outside work.

‘Sorry about the mess.’

Ryan’s clichéd reply brought a small smile to Tara’s face. He’d always been messy.

Ryan put the food in the kitchen, stowed the rest of his gear in the bedroom and closed the door. He was staring at her intently.

‘What’s so amusing?’

Damn. She’d let her guard down. She restored what she hoped was a neutral expression. The last thing she wanted to do was to tell Ryan her thoughts.

‘Nothing at all. However, I should ring my parents and let them know I’ll be home late.

‘Yes, of course you must. I’ll go and get changed while you do and then we’ll eat.’

Tara watched him disappear into the bedroom and sighed, hoping she’d have the courage to start to put her life back on course. She rang her parents’ number.

As Ryan pulled on a pair of jeans and a crumpled polo shirt a jumble of thoughts he’d previously managed to suppress scuttled through his mind.

Thoughts of the past.

He now realised that his years with Tara had been the best of his life, but she’d changed; her body had changed. Ryan knew it shouldn’t make any difference but it did. Although his feelings for her were strong, Tara was guarded and cautious around him. He didn’t seem to be able to get it right—the balance between friendly helpfulness and the undeniable protectiveness he felt for her. She seemed to want to be treated only as a colleague, but he couldn’t ignore their past.

He was responsible for the way things were now. The thought kept flashing in his mind like a neon sign that wouldn’t go away.

It added to his remorse.

In the end, he decided to let the evening chart its own course and he’d suffer any consequences. After all, it was unlikely they’d have the opportunity to spend much time together at work. Already he had a good idea he’d have little spare time to socialise during the couple of days he spent each week at Keysdale. In fact he’d been prepared for a knock-back when he’d asked Tara to share a meal with him.

Tara … She was rapidly turning into an enigma. He remembered how self-contained she’d been when he’d watched her get in her car and drive away without any idea he was in the car park on that Friday afternoon a couple of weeks ago. But he’d also seen traces of anxiety mixed with vulnerability during the brief contacts he’d had with her since. His natural instinct was to offer to help, but her independence stood firm as a barrier to his good intentions. He took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. Tara had moved his bag and settled herself in one corner of the settee.

She glanced at him, blushed and then focused on the bags on the kitchen bench. She was more ill at ease than he was.

‘The food smells delicious.’

Small talk was definitely a good idea.

‘They seem like pretty high-quality leftovers. I hope you don’t mind?’ Ryan stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next. He began unpacking the food.

‘Of course not.’ She scrutinised every dish.

‘Are you happy to eat now?’

‘I don’t mind. Whatever you want to do.’

Tension buzzed in the air. It was almost as if they were on a first date.

‘I somehow managed to miss out on lunch and I’m starving.’ He cleared his throat. ‘My brain functions better on a full stomach.’

He began to lay out two place settings on the tiny kitchen gate-leg table, but then realised there would be more room on the coffee table.

‘I’ll spread the food out here. There’s much more space and we can serve ourselves.’

‘Yes, that’s a sensible idea. I’m hungry.’ She paused a moment, then smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind women with hearty appetites.’

Ryan couldn’t help doing a quick appraisal and it reinforced his first impressions. He was pleased with what he saw. Tara wore trousers and a tailored shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing a hint of cleavage which he hadn’t noticed earlier in the day. Her upper body was lean and well toned. He imagined she exercised regularly to keep in shape.

She was an attractive woman … and very sexy.

His heart thudded uncomfortably at the realisation. Sex had been an important and joyous part of their relationship. Making love with Tara had always been a deeply sensual experience—he smiled—laced with a unique sense of fun that he’d never experienced with his second wife, Shannay. With the benefit of hindsight and the lingering pain of a second divorce, he realised his feelings for his second wife had been based on a blinding infatuation, probably arising from a need to escape his grief.

There was no hint Tara had any similar feeling towards him, though. She was looking at him impatiently, waiting for his reply.

‘No, definitely not,’ he said at last.

Once the food was set out they both loaded their plates and ate their fill.

When Tara put her empty plate on the table, Ryan cleared the dishes and left them on the sink to deal with later.

He sat down next to Tara.

‘So tell me about your patient.’ It was neutral territory and unlikely to open any old wounds.

‘Yes, of course.’

Focusing on something other than Ryan was exactly what Tara needed.

Reaching over to her wheelchair, where she’d left her bag, she extracted Pippa Morgan’s file. She opened volume two to the section containing test results, investigation reports and specialist letters.

‘Do you want a recap on her history?’

Ryan nodded. ‘Good idea,’ he said.

Tara repeated what she’d told Ryan earlier—that the teenager had suffered from the painful and debilitating condition of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis since early childhood, and that her joints had degenerated to the point where her specialist was considering the possibility of surgery to relieve the increasingly severe pain in her right hip.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.