But two days later he’d visited her in the ward and when she’d realised who he was she’d hurled her bowl of hospital broth at him with more force than such a woman could reasonably have been expected to possess.
‘I was ready,’ she’d hissed. ‘They’ve all gone before me. My husband. My friends. Two of my children. They were waiting and I was ready and you hauled me back. For what? What, young man? What?’
It had been a salutary lesson, and now he made a huge effort to learn which of his patients would elect to give the order ‘not for resuscitation.’
Which should have no bearing on how he was feeling now, he thought dryly, but it did. He’d lain with Ginny in his arms and he’d felt so close to declaring himself in love. He’d gone so close to tumbling into the whole relationship thing again and now that he’d been pulled back…
Now that he’d been pulled back he was feeling sick and empty. Maybe…just maybe loving again wouldn’t be so bad.
Just Ginny, he told himself hastily in case his mind should get any funny ideas about taking it further. Maybe Ginny and I could have some sort of relationship. The thought of holding her again, of lying with her, of burying his body in hers, was infinitely appealing. And Ginny didn’t want attachments. She wouldn’t want children. They could be a career couple, carefully independent but meeting somewhere…
Meeting where? In marriage?
His mind closed on the idea-but then the thought of Ginny rose up before him. He let the image stay and the more he let it drift in his mind the more seductive the image grew.
‘Just Ginny,’ he said into the darkness. ‘If she’ll have me. If she’ll let some of her precious independence go. Not that I want her to be dependent…’
What did he want?
And the answer came back.
He wanted Ginny.
His cellphone rang again and he clicked through to the speaker on his truck console.
‘You on your way, Doc?’ It was Clive Horace, sounding anxious. ‘Stephanie’s just chucked again and that makes it five times since midnight. Won’t she be getting dehydrated?’
Yeah, Fergus thought, shoving away the image of the seductive Ginny until he had more time to focus. Stephanie would. He needed to concentrate on medicine.
Ginny would have to wait.
But not very long, he told himself fiercely. She was still at the boatshed, lying sleepily in her cocoon of ancient blankets.
Maybe if he was fast…
He wouldn’t be fast. If Stephanie had vomited five times since midnight, she’d probably need to be admitted.
Medicine was for now.
Ginny was for tomorrow.
Their paths didn’t cross in the morning. Ginny came into the hospital early and spent two hours running a prenatal clinic she’d organised. She’d done it simply by putting a notice in the window of the general store.
“If you’re pregnant and would like your check-ups done here instead of Bowra, come along on Tuesday morning.”
The obstetrician in Bowra was delighted to have pressure taken off what was a vast workload, and Ginny ended up with twelve ladies to see. She did the antenatal checks but it ended up as an impromptu get-together of Cradle Lake’s prospective mums-something just as valuable as any medical advice she could have given.
Fergus came in at the end, but Ginny had just left.
‘She’s left us to natter,’ one of the ladies-a woman who by the look of her was planning on delivering her entire family in one hit-told him. ‘Oh, but she’s lovely. We were just telling her that when you leave we’ll try to persuade her to stay, and she didn’t say no. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?’
Fantastic?
Fergus frowned. Richard didn’t have long left. Ginny would leave straight away-he was certain of that. She’d organise Madison’s adoption and then head back to the city.
Which was where their relationship could maybe become something they could take seriously. Maybe they could take a step or two toward permanence.
Hell, it had been a one-night stand so far, he told himself, startling himself with where his thoughts were going. He’d made love to a woman who’d made him feel alive again, and it had started him thinking that maybe he didn’t need to cut himself right off from the world.
Fine. But one step at a time. If it worked out…
It had to work out.
No, it didn’t, he told himself, saying farewell to the happy cluster of mums-to-be and striding out to the truck to take a quick ride out to see Richard. He’d promised to drop in on Richard this morning and it was almost lunchtime.
And Ginny would be there.
There was no reason at all for his steps to quicken as he strode out of the hospital toward…
Toward Ginny?
His steps definitely quickened.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE were dogs at Ginny’s farmhouse.
Fergus pulled into the yard and he could see things had changed. There was a fenced-off area to one side of the veranda, a temporary construction of chicken wire and garden stakes.
There were three dogs inside the pen and Ginny was sitting in the middle of them.
Up on the veranda sat Madison. Every time he’d come she’d been sitting lethargic and uninterested. Now she was sitting on the top step, watching with what seemed almost eagerness.
Richard was still in bed. He was getting weaker by the day and it was too much to expect him to get up now, but Tony had hauled his bed around so that he, too, could watch. Tony was sitting on the end of the bed, overseeing the entire proceedings.
This was some strange hospital.
‘You’re going to have to be polite if you want some hot dog,’ Ginny was saying, and he hauled his attention back to her without any effort at all. ‘Sit.’
What was she doing?
Three dogs. Three disreputable mutts. One looked like some sort of whippet, long, rangy and lean. There was a black and white border collie with a little bit of kelpie thrown in for good measure, and there was a little dog, a wiry-looking terrier who looked sharply intelligent. It was this dog Ginny was addressing. The other two were already seated, waiting expectantly.
While he watched, the little dog gave a tentative yap.
‘Your friends are waiting,’ Ginny said. ‘You sit and you all get a bit of hot dog. Sit, sir.’
‘Yap.’
‘You heard what I said.’
The dog stood four square and looked at Ginny. Ginny sat on the grass and eyeballed the dog straight back.
‘You want the hot dog? Then sit.’ She raised the hot dog over the little dog’s head so it was forced to look up. She pressed the dog’s chest very gently.
The dog sat.
‘Well done,’ she said, and beamed, and handed out three pieces of hot dog.
From the veranda came the sound of clapping. Fierce clapping from Tony. Faint clapping from Richard. And- amazingly-an even fainter clapping from Madison.
