The Surgeon's Doorstep Baby (12 page)

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’s not part of our family,’ Maggie snapped. ‘He’s our landlord. Nothing else.’

* * *

The week dragged.

The longer the river remained impassable the busier Maggie became. Medical niggles became major. The authorities organised helicopter drops of essentials and evacuation of a few people who’d just got sick of staying.

Maggie’s mother was one of them.

‘Archie and I are fed up,’ she told Maggie on her first phone contact since Chris had hurt his leg. ‘You have the kids. Why should I stay? We’re visiting Archie’s daughter in Sydney.’

‘Can you take Pete?’ Maggie asked, knowing already what the answer would be but she had to try. ‘He’s so bored I’m scared he’ll do something dumb.’

‘You think Archie’s daughter wants kids?’ Barbie asked incredulously. ‘Of course she doesn’t. Pete’s a good boy. You worry too much, Maggie.’

And she was gone.

Maggie had been using the phone in the hall. She turned and found Blake watching.

Sharing the phone had to stop, she thought. Why wouldn’t her mother use the cellphone? Why was Blake watching? And why was her mother’s voice so shrill that she knew Blake must have heard?

‘Archie?’ he asked.

‘He’s a no-good dropkick from the other side of the valley,’ she told him, trying to keep her tone unemotional. ‘His wife keeps leaving and then he hangs round Mum. It doesn’t last. They’ll have a fight, his wife’ll take him back and things will get back to normal. As normal as they ever do in our family.’

‘So you’re totally trapped.’

‘The river’s trapping me.’

‘Even if it goes down...’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I just need to stay close.’

‘When I sell this house, where will you go?’

He saw the colour fade from her face. How many places were available for cheap rent in the farming district close enough to be on call for her siblings? None.

She’d go back home.

‘Maggie...’

‘It’s my business,’ she said. ‘You have enough on your plate worrying about Ruby.’

‘Maybe we could—’

‘Maybe we couldn’t,’ she snapped. ‘Maybe there’s no we.’

She walked back into side of the house and carefully closed the door behind her. That was rude, she thought. Uncivil. She didn’t even know what he’d been about to say.

But there was something about the way he’d looked at her.

There’s no
we
.

It was true, she thought. No matter how he looked at her, it was simply another tug at her heartstrings. She had too many already. A guy with his needy baby...

A guy as drop-dead gorgeous as Blake?

A guy who’d hand her yet another responsibility?

‘Maggie...’ It was Chris, yelling from the other side of the door, Blake’s side. ‘Pete’s got the remote and won’t give it to me. Tell him he has to.’

‘Pete,’ Blake’s voice boomed. ‘Give your brother the remote or I’ll switch the channel to the National Bowling Championships and burn the remote. I mean it.’

There was a loaded silence and then a chuckle and then silence reigned from the living room.

She smiled.

She told herself not to smile.

Because that smile was all about thinking
we
.

There was only manipulation and responsibility and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE
household grew
more and more tense. Maggie was doing her best to keep the kids happy and not bother Blake, but the valley needed her. She was out a lot.

The weather stayed appalling. Half the problems she was called out for were as the result of people having too much time on their hands—and too much imagination.

‘Maggie, I’ve found a lump on my back. I think it’s cancer.’

‘Maggie, I’ve got this funny rash on my neck and I’ve been reading on the internet about
Scabies...’

‘Maggie, you know that scary cow disease? Jacob something? My mum used to make me eat brains when I was a kid, and how do I know I don’t have it?’

If the river’s staying up, the valley should be cut off from the internet, she thought bitterly. The internet was the greatest hypochondria feeder of all time, and she was stuck with it.

Luckily she had Blake. He was great at hosing down panic. By the end of the second week they’d worked out a system. She’d take the initial call. If it was minor and practical she’d go. If it was hysterical and sounding like it could be solved by talking, Blake would go—usually with Ruby, as Ruby herself distracted and defused fear.

If it was major they’d both go, but so far there’d been only a couple of real dramas. A local farmer had rolled his tractor onto his leg. Blake had been calm, steady and impressive, and she’d been truly grateful for his presence. Amy Southwell had had a major heart attack. There had been nothing either of them could do there, but Maggie had watched Blake comfort Amy’s husband of sixty years, grip his shoulders, simply hold him.

She’d thought again—quite desperately—there was no
we
. How could it ever work? A city surgeon with baby and a country nurse with eight siblings.

So stay separate, she told herself, and she did, mostly, until Pete got too bored to continue to obey, climbed into a car with a kid who shouldn’t have a licence—and nearly got himself killed.

* * *

Maggie was dressing an ulcer on Rose Chibnell’s leg when her phone went. It was Tom’s mother. Cindy Blayne was a fluffy piece of silliness, and she and her husband let their son do exactly what he wanted. Tom was eighteen going on twelve, and Maggie hated Pete being friends with him.

‘Maggie?’

Cindy’s first word had Maggie’s catching her breath. She could hear terror.

‘What’s wrong?’ She stepped back into Rose’s hall, knowing whatever was coming was bad.

‘Maggie, Tom’s rolled the car.’

A car accident. It was the worst of nightmares in such an isolated place. Her mind was switching straight into triage. She’d need Blake, she thought, and then she remembered he wasn’t home. He’d headed over the ridge to see the Misses Ford, who’d decided they both had jaundice, going on for liver cancer. Thanks to the internet.

His cellphone was still out of action.

She’d ring the Ford house. She had to find him.

‘Where’s the crash?’ she asked. ‘Where’s Tom?’

‘Maggie, it’s not Tom who’s hurt.’ Cindy sounded like a trembling mess.

‘What do you mean, it’s not Tom?’ But her heart did this strange, cold clench. Already she sensed what was coming.

‘He picked up Pete from your house,’ Cindy quavered. ‘I know your mum said no, but she’s been away and Tom and Pete thought... Anyway, they were in the car together and Tom’s okay but Pete was thrown out and he’s down the river bank and Tom can’t reach him.’

* * *

‘Dr Blake?’

Miss Harriet Ford answered the phone and handed it to Blake with all the solemnity of a well-paid secretary. Blake took it and another elderly lady was on the other end.

‘Dr Blake, this is Rose Chibnell,’ the lady said, primly but urgently. ‘Maggie’s asked me to try and contact you. There’s been a motorcar accident at the junction where the river turns north and the road twists away from it. It’s Tom Blayne’s car.’

He already knew who Tom Blayne was. It was amazing how many of the valley people he was getting to know.

‘Is he hurt?’

‘That’s why Maggie needs you,’ Rose said. ‘She doesn’t know. At least, she knows Tom’s okay, but it seems her brother, Pete, was in the car with him. He was thrown out and Tom can’t reach him. Tom thought he heard him groaning but he’s too far down the river bank for him to see. Do you want me to call the medivac helicopter? I can ask for it to be put on standby.’

‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘Please. Now.’

And then he turned and looked at two astonished spinsters who didn’t have jaundice, much less liver cancer.

‘How are you at babysitting?’ he demanded, and handed over Ruby before they could reply. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and went.

* * *

Tom was slumped on the roadside, by the steepest incline down to the river in the valley, and Maggie could see at a glance what had happened.

The edge of the road was sodden. Tom had come round the bend too fast and hit the verge. The verge had started to crumble, he’d swerved, overcorrected, hit the bank with the far side of the car, flipped it and rolled.

He was very lucky the car hadn’t gone right over.

Maggie wasn’t thinking luck, though. She was thinking...Pete.

She was out of the car, bending over Tom, shaking his shoulder. His eyes looked glazed. Shocked. He wasn’t a bad kid. Just stupid.

He was bleeding from a cut above his eye but it was shallow, bleeding sluggishly. It was enough to look dramatic but not enough to distract her from her urgent questioning.

‘Tom, are you hurt? Apart from your eye?’

‘N-no.’ He was staring downwards with horror. She glanced down and her heart lurched.

This was no small landslip. The road had given a little, but a little had become a lot as it had slipped downwards. She saw a swathe of fresh, tumbled mud.

‘Pete...’

‘There’s no seat belt on the passenger side,’ he muttered. ‘It broke last month. Dad was s’posed to fix it. Pete fell out.’

‘Pete’s down there?’ She’d forgotten to breathe. She’d forgotten everything.

‘I can’t get down. I tried and the mud moves. I heard him groan at the start but not any more. I can’t... You reckon he’s dead?’

Dear God.

She stared again at the mud. She cupped her hands and yelled, louder than she’d ever yelled before.

‘Pete!’

No answer—but the river was roaring beneath them.

Oh, God, how far had he slipped? How much mud was there? Where...?

Tom was weeping, wringing his hands. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at her.

‘I need your help,’ she said. ‘You know the local numbers. Ring Mrs Mayes, or if you can’t get her ring Ted Barnes or Fred Halliday. Tell them I want the emergency chopper with paramedics, and I want tractors and I want as many men as you can get, as fast as they can possibly get them here. And I want them to find Dr Samford. Do you have that, Tom?’

‘I... Yes.’

‘Ring, fast. Ring everybody. I’m going down.’

‘You can’t.’

‘I’ll go down at the edge of the slide,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t have a choice. Phone, now.’

* * *

Clambering down a sodden cliff face beside a mass of tumbled mud and debris was easier said than done. It was appallingly difficult.

She had no choice.

She called as she climbed but she felt...hopeless.

There was too much mud. If Pete had been thrown as the mud had slid he could be buried. He could have been pushed into the river.

She was weeping and climbing and yelling—and the bank was too steep. The rocks were giving under her feet.

Slow down, she told herself. You’re no use to anyone if you kill yourself—but her feet wouldn’t obey.

Dear God, where was he?

The cliff was getting steeper. She pushed herself harder, clambering, clinging, calling.

She paused on a tiny ledge, forcing herself to take a second to work out the best way to proceed, to look down, search...

And she saw him—well, his blue hoodie... He was a kid, sprawled among the rocks and mud by the river bank.

Not buried.

‘Pete,’ she screamed, and he raised his arm in a feeble wave.

Not dead. Not dead.

She choked back a sob and stepped off her ledge, heading straight for him.

The ground gave way under her.

She lurched and flailed for something to hold onto.

Everything was moving. She was sliding...the whole world was sliding.

‘Pete,’ she yelled again, uselessly, and then even more uselessly, ‘Blake...’

And then a rock rose up to meet her and there was nothing.

* * *

Blake hadn’t known he could drive so fast. He hadn’t known he could be so afraid.

He hauled his car to a halt beside Maggie’s, beside Tom’s upturned wreck, and he was beside the shaking Tom almost before the car stopped.

‘Maggie?’

‘Pete’s down there somewhere,’ Tom said, pointing uselessly downward. Sobbing. ‘An’ Maggie went after him. Only then the rocks fell and I heard Maggie scream and there’s been nothing since.’

CHAPTER TEN

M
AGGIE
woke up to whiteness—and to the worst headache she’d ever known.

It was blowing her head away. It was making her feel...

A bowl was right where she needed it, strong hands were holding her steady, and there was a voice...

‘It’s okay, love. It’ll pass soon. We’ve got you safe. We’re getting you stronger pain relief.’

Blake.

She was too weak to ask questions. She was too busy concentrating on the dictates of her stomach, but between spasms...

Blake?

White. Blake. Alive.

The spasms eased. The bowl was removed and Blake’s hands, strong and gentle at the same time, guided her back to the pillows. Someone in green...someone at the periphery of her vision...was giving her an injection.

She got that. One arm was having an injection. Blake had the other. It was Blake’s hand.

What...? What...?

‘Pete...’ Somehow she managed to whisper it, but inside the word was a scream.

‘Pete’s copped a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder,’ Blake told her. ‘He’s had surgery and he’s in the next ward. He’s fine.’

In the next ward. It was so hard thinking through the fuzz. Ward. Hospital.

Blake.

Kids.

Panic.

‘I have to go home.’

‘You don’t have to go anywhere,’ he said gently. ‘Ronnie’s at home with the kids. They’re ringing in every hour to see how you are. They all send their love. They’re fine, my love. Close your eyes until the pain eases.’

It was good advice, she decided. It was advice she needed to take. The pain in her head...

She lay back and let the pain take her. She gave in to it, rode it, figured she could live with it if only she stayed absolutely still and didn’t let the light in.

‘Her pulse is settling,’ someone said from a long way away. ‘Are you sure about transfer?’

‘We can do without it.’ That was Blake again. ‘Ross concurs. The pressure’s not building and she’s conscious. She’ll want to stay home.’

Home.

Blake.

Kids.

He’d answered all her questions.

His hand was still holding hers and she wasn’t letting go. It was helping her ride the pain. She held onto his hand, and it helped.

The waves were receding a bit. A lot? A fog was taking its place—infinitely preferable. She drifted into it, but she still didn’t let go of that hand.

‘Let yourself sleep,’ Blake said, and his voice was right by her ear. She could feel him breathing. She could feel the faint rasp of stubble of his face against hers.

Blake. Here. Good.

Why?

‘What...?’

‘You hit your head,’ he told her. ‘Hard. We had to drill a wee hole to ease the pressure.’

‘Dr Samford did,’ another voice said. A woman. She dared a glimpse and saw the green again as the voice went on. ‘He operated on you, down in all that mud and slush. Relieved the pressure before it killed you. How he ever managed it... It doesn’t bear thinking about. Everyone’s talking about it. Maggie, you’re so lucky.’

It was Mary, Maggie thought. With the pain receding it was easier—but not as easy as all that—to think. To figure things out. To realise she knew this voice in green. It was Mary Walford, Theatre Nurse at Corella Base Hospital

Falling. Pete.

Drill a wee hole...

Pressure.

‘A...a cranial burr-hole?’ Her voice was hardly a whisper.

‘A beautiful, successful drill. Ross Myers helped clean it up when we got you here,’ Mary said. ‘But Blake did the urgent stuff. He’s quite some hero. Now sleep, Maggie, love.’

‘Blake...’

‘I’m going nowhere,’ Blake said, in a voice that was so unsteady she hardly recognised it. His hold on her hand didn’t ease one bit. ‘Sleep as long as you like. I’ll be here when you wake up.’

* * *

She slept and woke and slept and woke and every time she woke he was with her. He seemed to be drifting in and out of her fog. Holding her. Telling things were okay. His hand was her link to reality. Otherwise she’d float, she thought. Disappear.

Every now and then the pain would rise and she’d need that hand even more. Then there’d be a growl from Blake and movement and people and the fog would descend again.

And his hand kept right on holding her. Stopping her disappearing into the whiteness.

He was her one reality, she thought with the only vestige of reality she had left to her. Blake.

‘Sleep,’ he kept saying whenever she stirred, whenever things started crowding in. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. There’s nothing to do, my Maggie, except sleep.’

* * *

And finally, finally, the fog receded and she woke up. She could hardly explain it. One minute the fog was all-enveloping; the next she was opening her eyes and the fog was gone. The sun was shining on the white coverlet.

Blake was asleep in the chair beside her.

He looked appalling. He looked battle worn, unshaved, gaunt, exhausted. He looked like he should be in this bed instead of her.

His hand still held hers.

She looked down at it, at the lean, long fingers, at the strength, at the link.

She glanced out the window and saw sunshine. Water glistening—the river beyond. No rain.

She turned again to look at that hand, and Blake was wide awake and watching her.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ he said, and smiled, but his smile was different from any smile she’d ever seen. A warrior after battle. A warrior who’d been too close...

‘Sleepyhead yourself,’ she whispered. ‘You’re the one who was sleeping.’ She glanced out the window again. ‘It’s morning.’

‘It is.’

‘I’ve been in here all night?’

‘You’ve been in here for two days and three nights,’ he said, and waited for that to sink in.

There was a bandage on her head. She put a hand up and touched it. Felt the lack of hair.

‘We had to cut it,’ he said ruefully. ‘I was in a bit of a hurry and I’m not much at hairdressing. When the bandages come off we’ll find you a stylist.’

‘I’ll be punk for a while?’

‘Maybe you will,’ he agreed. ‘Lopsided mohawk. It had to be done. You gave yourself one hell of a bang.’

She lay back on the pillows and thought about it. Blake let her hand go, poured two glasses of water, handed one to her—watched to make sure her shaking hand wasn’t about to drop it—and then drank himself. He looked like a man who needed it.

Cranial burr-hole. The words came floating out of the fog. Pressure.

‘You operated.’

‘I was...lucky,’ he said. ‘You had a massive haematoma, and I could see you slipping, but Tom was driving his dad’s farm ute. It had a toolbox in the back containing a drill, plus a set of lovely, new, clean drill bits. All sizes. Tom had his phone. I rang a neurologist mate in Melbourne. Tom held the phone while I drilled. Thankfully it took the pressure off instantly. Exciting, huh?’

And she heard his voice shake. She heard the lingering terror in it.

She’d seen burr-holes drilled with patients in nice, clean theatre settings, and they were so often too late.

Pressure from bleeding on the brain...

She touched the bandage again and she knew how lucky she’d been.

‘Thank you,’ she said simply, and he sat again and took her hand and held.

‘I never knew how much I needed you,’ he said simply. ‘Until I thought I was losing you. I’ve known you for two weeks. I can’t possibly need you that much but I do.’

‘Blake...’ He’d taken her breath away. She lay on the pillows and watched his face, and saw raw, naked need. Pain.

‘Blake,’ she said again, and reached out, and he moved, gathering her into his arms, gently, tenderly, holding her as she needed to be held. His heart against hers. Washing away the last of the fog. Just holding.

‘I need you to marry me, Maggie,’ he whispered, and her world stilled.

Marry...

He pulled away at that, and saw her face, and he laughed, a raw, jagged laugh that contained pain as well as humour.

‘Um...let’s recall that,’ he said, and she saw he was striving for normality, for a place that didn’t encompass the fear he’d faced. ‘It’s way too soon.’

‘I...I can’t...’ The fog was wisping in again. All she wanted to do was say yes, sink into this man’s arms and never let go, but some vestige of the old Maggie was resurfacing, ringing warning bells, stopping her from take this amazing, irreversible leap. ‘Blake, I can’t...think.’

‘No,’ he said, and he smiled and then he tugged her back to him and he kissed her, a whisper kiss, light, loving on her lips. And then he propelled her back on the pillows. ‘Of course you can’t. And I can’t either, my love. I’ve hardly slept. You’re full of analgesics. We need to sort ourselves out and find some sort of normality and go from there.’

He smiled at her then, and it was a smile that made her heart turn over. It was a smile that had her forgetting that her head was starting to pound again. It was a smile that made her world shift.

‘I’ll ring for some more pain relief for you,’ he said. ‘And then I’ll go and wash and sleep. But then I’ll come back. But I’ll keep coming back, my Maggie. For now and for always, and that’s a promise.’

* * *

He left. She slept and when she woke up he wasn’t there. Mary was, fussing in the background, adjusting drips.

‘Hi,’ she said, and grinned. ‘Welcome back to the real world.’

‘Blake?’ She couldn’t help himself.

‘Sent home with a flea in his ear,’ she said. ‘Ross told him unless he got out of here he’d get Security to eject him. He didn’t want two patients and the man’s exhausted. He hardly left you for three days.’

‘Three days...’

‘Oh, he’s gorgeous,’ Ronnie said happily. ‘And his little girl... We brought her in here, you know, while you were so sick, because Ronnie knew he was torn. Ross decided another helicopter trip was worth it to collect her. She’s a darling. Half the hospital’s in love with her. But, oh, Maggie, Blake’s wonderful. What a wonderful solution. You should see him with Pete. Pete’s been beside himself, so scared for you, and every time you were deeply asleep Blake’d go to him. We’ll wheel him in to see you later, but Blake’s reassured him completely.

‘Oh, he’s lovely... He can be big brother to your tribe—a dad almost—and you can be mum for Ruby. Ross is already talking to him about part-time work here. Apparently he could work here two days, and Sydney three days. It’s a happy ever after. The whole valley’s happy for you, Maggie. It’s a happy ever after for everyone.’

* * *

It took her a few more days before she felt anywhere approaching normal. She had more grazes and scrapes than she wanted to think about. She had broken ribs. She was being loaded with antibiotics and care and demands for rest, and she was being told over and over that she was the luckiest woman in the world.

She was.

She lay back on her hospital pillows, she watched the sunbeams on the coverlet, she watched the faces of her scared siblings when they visited—apparently they’d finally managed to set up a barge for river crossings. She listened to Pete’s stammering apology, she hugged him, she smiled at Blake, and she watched with love as he played with Ruby on her coverlet.

Then, on the day she was due to leave hospital, she told him she wasn’t going to marry him.

* * *

He’d come in by himself. The kids had pleaded to be allowed to help bring her home but that’d mean four kids and a baby. Pete’s leg was in a cast so he’d need the entire back seat. It was all or none so he decreed none.

He drove to the hospital using the freshly organised barge, set in place until the bridge could be rebuilt. The worst of the bad weather was gone. The river level was dropping every day, only the mass of debris on the banks showing the maelstrom it had been.

Blake wasn’t looking at scenery, however. He knew this would be decision day, and he walked into Maggie’s room and he knew the moment he saw her face what her answer would be.

‘Too soon?’ he asked, trying to keep the tone light. Trying to ignore the lurch in the pit of his gut.

She was dressed, ready to leave with him. She was wearing her faded jeans and a loose, oversized windcheater that was easy to take on and off over her bandaged head.

She was still heavily bandaged. The Corella Valley hairdresser had come in and clipped her lovely curls on the undamaged parts of her scalp back to a boyish, elfin crop.

She looked absurdly young, absurdly vulnerable—and absurdly beautiful. All he wanted to do was gather her into his arms, yet her expression said don’t.

‘I can’t,’ she said, and her words were anguished.

‘No,’ he said. He crossed to the bed where she was sitting and because he couldn’t help himself he tilted her chin with his fingers and brushed her lips with his. He wanted—more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life—to gather her into his arms and kiss her as he needed to kiss her, but somehow he held back. Somehow he held to the last vestiges of his self-control.

‘I can’t marry you,’ she whispered.

‘That’s what I thought you meant.’

‘Blake, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said, still striving for lightness. ‘It’s your life, Maggie.’

‘But it’s not my life,’ she said, and suddenly she wasn’t whispering any more.

He stilled. ‘Is that why?’ he said slowly. ‘Because you’re encumbered with the kids, with responsibilities? You know I how much I want to share those.’

‘That’s just it,’ she said bitterly. ‘Of course you do.’

She turned and looked out the window. The river was flowing peacefully in the distance. From here they could see the far side of the valley. They could almost see the homestead, filled with kids and dogs and...family.

‘It’s my dream,’ she said.

‘Your drink-can dream?’

‘Don’t laugh.’

‘I’m not laughing. I would never laugh at you.’

She turned then and met his gaze straight on. She gazed at him and he didn’t falter. He looked back at her, calm and sure, and he tried to put every ounce of love he felt for this woman into that gaze.

‘I know you wouldn’t,’ she said at last. ‘I know. But it still is a dream, and if I married you...’ She hesitated, touched the bandages on her head as if they hurt—but maybe it was something else that was hurting.