clothes when you went out to see Janet?’
‘Nope.’
‘There you are, then. Autocratic, unfeeling, inconsiderate…’
Ryan sighed. He and Abbey seemed destined to spend the morning sparring. ‘OK, Abbey. Enough. Just fill me in on a few histories here. I need a verbal changeover. Your patient notes are nigh on unintelligible.’
‘I guess that’s because I’m the only one who ever reads them,’ Abbey admitted contritely. ‘I’m not used to handing over. Tell you what. Find me some clothes and I’ll do a ward round with you and hand over personally.’
‘You’re not getting dressed. And you’re not going anywhere.’
‘Ryan…’
‘No.’
‘What if I stay in a wheelchair?’ Abbey said meekly. ‘And promise to act subservient all the time.’
‘Abbey…’
‘Please?’ She smiled, and her smile lit up her eyes. It really was the loveliest smile.
Ryan caved in. He always had.
He stared down at her, baulked and baffled, and then he sighed. ‘OK, Abbey. Ten minutes. I’ll bring a wheelchair and a dressing-gown back here in ten minutes but if you haven’t eaten every scrap of your breakfast you’re not going anywhere.’
‘Yes, sir!’
Sapphire Cove Bush Nursing Hospital boasted fifteen beds, twelve of which were full. Four of those were nursing home patients, which left eight acute cases to discuss. All eight patients were agog to see their accustomed doctor being pushed around in a wheelchair, her bandaged leg stuck straight out before her on a support board-and being propelled by a man many of them vaguely recognised from almost twenty years ago.
‘Ryan Henry…’ Old Mr Thomlinson gave a wheezy chuckle and held out his hand in greeting. ‘Well, well. Back in your old partnership, I see.’
‘Partnership?’
‘You and Abbey.’ Bert Thomlinson looked from Ryan down to Abbey and grinned at the memory. ‘Caught the pair of you swimming out to the reef and pinching crayfish from my traps when you were about twelve and eight years old apiece. Like two little fish, you were, diving down and hauling crays out of the trap. You were letting the little ones go, you told me, and gave me a lecture on catching babies.’ He chortled. ‘At the time I felt like tanning the hides of the pair of you, but you know what? I’ve never kept an undersized lobster since.’ He broke into a fit of coughing and Abbey clucked reproof.
‘That’s what you get for telling tales out of school, Bert Thomlinson.’ She looked up at Ryan. ‘Bert’s recovering from two nasty patches of pneumonia affecting both lungs. Caught, no doubt, from going fishing late at night and not getting out of wet clothes. And I don’t believe you’ve reformed, Bert. I’ll bet you were still catching undersized crays.’
‘I never would,’ Bert said, wounded. ‘The look of you back then, Abbey… No higher than my waist, standing there with your fingers all bloody from getting nipped and making me sound like a child murderer for catching baby crays. And young Ryan standing in front of you, ready to defend you to the death…’ He fell back on his pillows and smiled. ‘Well, it does me good to see the pair of you back together again, even if it took a busted leg to do it.’
That was pretty much the opinion of the entire older population of the hospital. Ryan found he was recognised with real pleasure, and he also discovered that he liked the sensation. Very much.
The best greeting, though, was from his father. Ryan only had to walk into his father’s room for the old man’s eyes to light up with delight.
Double delight when he saw Abbey.
‘How’s the leg?’ Sam demanded, reaching out and gripping Ryan’s hand between his attached tubes. Abbey saw the gesture with resignation. Did Ryan really not realise how much his father loved him? Did he really not realise that Sam needed a lot more than duty letters from his beloved son?
‘Better than your heart. Sam, you have to get this by-pass,’ Abbey said bluntly.
‘So Ryan says. But there’s no
‘Like let it stop?’
‘Abbey…’
Abbey took a deep breath. She glanced uncertainly up at Ryan and then turned her attention solely to Ryan’s father. And took a chance…
‘Sam, would it help if Ryan told you he’ll look after your farm while you have the operation, and that he‘ll stay until you’re on the mend again?’
Silence.
Ryan said nothing.
That didn’t mean Ryan’s mind wasn’t working, though. Good grief. What was Abbey saying? Abbey was just committing him here. Committing him to stay here for a month or more.
‘But… Abbey, I can’t…’ he said blankly.
‘Of course you can’t.’ Sam’s voice was tired, and bleak, and absolutely final. ‘That’s stupid, Abbey. Ryan has his career back in the USA. He just can’t dump it to look after me. And he has this lady-Felicity isn’t it, son? Felicity won’t want to stick around here with a sick old man.’
Felicity wouldn’t. Of course she wouldn’t. Felicity was an oncologist-a cancer specialist-as expert in her field as Ryan was in his. She’d had trouble slotting a honeymoon into her busy schedule anyway. To extend the honeymoon for a few weeks…
Impossible. Impossible for both of them. Felicity was needed back at work as much as Ryan.
But Sam was fading back into the pillows and his grip on Ryan’s hand had eased. It was as if, for a brief moment, Sam had allowed himself to show his need for his son, and now he was schooling himself to let go.
And Abbey’s face was absolutely expressionless.
Ryan’s gut tightened. Hell, there was only so much of this a man could take. It was an impossible thing to ask. It was impossible to stay. But… With Sam’s hand in his and Abbey looking at him like that… It was impossible for him to go.
‘I meant I can’t see why not,’ Ryan said strongly-roughly-and his hand tightened on his father’s, re-establishing the link. Re-establishing the need. ‘I can keep up with my research work over here. There’s articles I need to write up and I have my lap-top computer with me. I have everything I need.’
Of course he had his lap-top with him. To go on a honeymoon without work was unthinkable.
To stay away from work for more than two weeks was unthinkable. The reorganisation that would have to be done was unbelievable. And there was Richard Crogin to worry about. Richard was after Ryan’s job, and if Ryan was away…
But suddenly all that mattered was the link between his father’s hand and his-and the luminous glow that was beaming straight up at him from Abbey.
‘You mean it?’ Abbey asked breathlessly. ‘Oh, Ryan… ’
Ryan’s resolution firmed.
‘Of course I mean it.’ He looked down at his father. ‘If you agree to the surgery then I’ll stay for at least a month.’
Sam blinked. He looked up at his son in bewilderment, and Abbey felt her delight fade. Maybe it wasn’t enough. Abbey’s own heart sank. For Ryan to promise a month… There was nothing promised for the end of that month. There was no commitment to a future for the old man in that. One month, a couple of weeks of which Sam would spend in hospital in Cairns…
Maybe Sam still wouldn’t agree.
But Sam was looking from Ryan to Abbey with eyes that were lightening by the minute. There was a spark of interest glowing in their depths that Abbey hadn’t seen for years.
‘What about your Felicity?’ Sam asked his son.
‘I’ll talk to Felicity,’ Ryan said heavily. ‘We might have to reorganise things.’
‘Put the wedding off?’
