‘I believe him.’
Lizzie nodded. She removed the last of the staples. ‘This is looking really good, Harry. Your surgeon’s done a great job. You’ll hardly have a scar.’
‘I don’t mind a scar,’ he growled. ‘I wouldn’t have a leg if it wasn’t for you.’
‘You wouldn’t have run into me in the first place.’
‘No. I might have run into a ruddy great truck going like a bat out of hell. I might have been a squashed puddle in the middle of the road instead of a workable doctor with a scar in the middle of my leg.’
‘So you’re grateful to me?’ Her eyes flashed laughter and to her amazement she found he was smiling back. His smile never ceased to amaze her. What his smile did to her…
‘You don’t know how much,’ he told her.
Which sent her straight back to the defence of silence.
Where was Emily? Lizzie knew she phoned occasionally-occasionally she’d heard Harry take a short, terse call- but there seemed little other contact. Anyone would think he didn’t want to get married, she thought. A good doctor-a family doctor-would press the point.
She wasn’t Harry’s family doctor. She was caring for his leg and if she let herself care for any other part of him then she was in major trouble.
Tom. Concentrate on Tom.
‘So if Tom’s not gambling, what’s wrong with May?’
‘Tom doesn’t know. He’s worried about her, too. She’s not sleeping and she keeps taking on more and more shifts when she doesn’t need to. I’ve put a stop to it-told her five shifts a week maximum-but then I find she’s taken on a bit of private nursing. Old Ern Porteous should be in the nursing home but he won’t go. The district nurse calls on him twice a day but he really needs more than that. His family’s paying May to spend two hours there after each shift.’
‘She’s raising three small boys. She’ll kill herself.’
‘Yeah. But she won’t admit to me that anything’s wrong. Or to Tom.’
‘Nor to me,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘So what do we do?’
‘We can’t force the truth from her,’ Harry told her. ‘If Tom really is gambling… They’re both proud people.’
‘But if they’re self-destructing…’
‘We’re only doctors,’ Harry said heavily. ‘There’s only so much we can do. The rest is up to them.’
‘It hurts,’ Lizzie said slowly, and he nodded.
‘You really are a family doctor,’ he told her. ‘You care and you care and you care. Just like me. Now all that has to happen is for you admit it.’
‘Right.’ She stared down at his leg. The swelling had subsided enough for him to wear a cast and, considering the way he refused to submit to being an invalid, the sooner he had a protective cast on it the better.
‘Lie back down,’ she told him. He’d propped himself up so that he could see and the sensation of his face being so close to hers was unnerving.
‘You want me to go back to being a patient-instead of a person?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Because you can cope with the world that way.’
‘I can cope with you that way,’ she muttered, reaching for the wrapping to use under the fibreglass. ‘It’s the only way it’s going to happen. So get used to it.’
Life became more complicated after that. With a plaster boot fitted to his new cast, there was no stopping Harry. Wherever Lizzie went he seemed to be there. He still used a crutch, but he was so subtle she couldn’t hear him coming.
The place was too small for two doctors, she thought-but then had to concede that it wasn’t. It worked brilliantly with two doctors. It was only that one doctor stiffened and couldn’t keep her mind on her work any time the other doctor was present.
‘When did you say Phoebe’s due?’ He asked her that at breakfast the day after she’d fitted his new cast and she sighed. Phoebe’s confinement was starting to be all she thought of herself. He obviously wanted to be shot of her and she felt the same about him. They had to get distance. They must!
‘Soon,’ she snapped. ‘The vet says any day. When’s Emily due home?’
‘Soon. Any day.’
‘Great.’
‘But you can’t leave until the puppies are eight weeks old.’
‘Which gives you time to have your wedding and honeymoon.’ Under her breath she added, ‘And keep yourself out of my way.’
‘Right.’
‘Fine.’
It was ridiculous. Two grown doctors who reacted to each other as if they were impregnated with some electrostatic charge. Harry just had to walk into the room and her skin tingled and she had to concentrate so hard…
‘I don’t know where that girl’s gone,’ Mrs Scotter muttered as Lizzie changed the dressings on her leg again. Mavis was home from hospital and Lizzie had taken to dropping in on the old lady every morning. Her leg was finally starting to heal, but Mavis valued Lizzie’s visits more than the healing.
As Lizzie valued Mavis. She’d miss her when she left.
She’d miss so darn much.
Um…maybe she needed to concentrate on Mrs Scotter. What had she asked? ‘What girl?’ she asked.
‘Emily.’
Emily. The absent fiancee. Right.
‘She’s shopping for things for her house.’
‘She’s been gone for weeks. She’s never been gone for that long. If it was my fella who’d broken his leg the day before the wedding and I knew that he was sharing a house with a woman like you, well, I’d be a damned fool for staying away that long.’
‘Maybe she knows she can trust Dr McKay,’ Lizzie said stiffly. ‘Your leg’s looking great, Mavis. Who’s chopping your wood now?’
‘I am. Who do you think? Do you think she should trust Dr McKay?’ The old lady’s eyes were boring into her, and Lizzie flushed and rose.
‘I have no idea. I hardly know the man.’
‘You’ve shared a house with him for weeks.’
‘We hardly see each other.’
‘More fool you.’
‘Mavis, where’s your woodshed?’ Lizzie demanded. Enough was enough.
‘Out the back. Why?’
‘Because I intend to chop you some wood. I need to vent some frustration and chopping wood seems an ideal way to do it.’
He found her there, half an hour later. Harry limped around the side of the house following voices and the sound of the axe, and he stopped dead at the sight of her.
It was harder than she’d anticipated. Mavis had given her a splitter-an axe specifically designed for splitting logs-but she’d discovered it was science as well as muscle. So Mavis was standing back out of range while Lizzie chopped.
She had a pile now that was starting to give her satisfaction, but maybe it was only enough for one or two nights’ fires and she needed to do more. Her face was flushed bright red. She was exhausted, but she knew that if she stopped Mavis would take over. And some things were unbearable.
Some things other than Mavis’s lack of wood…
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Her axe landed with a thud and the log of wood spilt into two very satisfactory halves. A splinter flew
