she wasn’t sure that she wanted to.
Darcy loaded his own plate. He looked across at her for a long moment but she kept right on eating. Regardless. Finally he did, too.
The silence continued. Then he set his plate aside. ‘Ally?’
‘Yes?’
Mistake. She shouldn’t have given him an opening, she thought. But she had and he took it.
‘Ally, I need to know-’
‘You need to know nothing.’
‘You’re a qualified doctor.’
‘See, you know already.’
‘But I need-’
‘What?’ She flashed him an irritated glance. ‘What do you need?’
‘Help,’ he said flatly. ‘You know that. This place is impossible for one doctor.’
‘My grandfather managed it. You can manage it.’
‘The population around here is ten times what it was when your grandfather worked here. I can’t cope. People die because I can’t be everywhere at once.’
She glared at that. ‘Don’t blackmail me.’
‘I’m not blackmailing you. But I need to understand-’
‘You don’t need to understand anything. I’m not a doctor.’
‘Then why are you paying registration fees?’
Good question. She bit her lip. That was the final step, but until now…
It wasn’t going to make a difference, she told herself miserably. She’d gone through it. She’d made her decision. Whatever she did could make no difference now.
‘Look, Darcy, breakfast was great,’ she told him. ‘But yesterday I had no business to interfere with Marilyn.’
‘You saved her life.’
‘Yeah, and it felt good,’ she admitted. ‘So I can’t say I’m sorry. But I don’t want any part of it. Not any more. I’m no longer a doctor.’
‘You are.’
‘I’m not,’ she said flatly.
‘Why on earth not?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘If I can just use you for back-up-’
‘You can’t.’ She shrugged. ‘This is stupid. I’m not a practising doctor any more. I’m a massage therapist. If someone stopped being a train driver and started being a florist, no one would ask them to do a little train driving on the side.’
‘In an emergency they would. If the train was stuck.’
‘Maybe for the first six months. When they still had the skills.’
‘You still have the skills.’
‘They’ll fade. I won’t keep them up.’ She took a deep breath. She’d made this decision and she had to see it to its logical conclusion. ‘Darcy, like it or not, I’m immovable on this. I’ve changed. I do a great massage. I can make people feel good. I love my new job.’
‘But there’s no need-’
‘For people to feel good? You’re telling me that the massage I gave to Lorraine last night wasn’t effective? And Gloria? No one’s touched her since her husband died. I bet she went to bed last night and slept like a baby. I love what I do, Darcy Rochester. It’s what I am. It’s who I am.’
‘You’re a doctor.’
‘I’m a masseuse.’
‘You’re hiding.’
‘And you’re not?’
He paused. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You’re not running from the tragedy of your wife’s death?’
He stared. ‘What the hell…?’
‘You can’t run from the past.’
There was a moment’s silence while he thought about that. ‘Is that why you came back here, then?’ His voice was almost a whisper. His tone was that of discovery. Like he’d discovered the truth. ‘You came back to face the past?’
Ouch. It was so close to the truth that it made her flinch. But she wasn’t about to give this man the upper hand.
‘If I’m doing that then it’s more than you’re doing.’
‘You know nothing about it,’ he told her. ‘Rachel and I-’
‘I don’t need to hear.’
‘You do, you know,’ he told her, and his voice became even more gentle. ‘You accused me of running when nothing could be further from the truth. Rachel and I had a wonderful relationship. A wonderful marriage.’
‘I don’t-’
‘We met in high school,’ he told her, ignoring her interruption. ‘We were best of friends. We started med school together and then Rachel was diagnosed with leukaemia. We went through five years of treatment and remission and treatment and remission and finally we faced her death. Together.’
‘I’m…I’m sorry.’
‘But the thing is,’ he said, his voice suddenly relentless, ‘that I kept faith with our dream. We’d always wanted to practise in the country. Always. With Rachel’s illness it wasn’t possible, but we used to escape every chance we had and drive through remote little hamlets, figuring out where our ideal practise would be as soon as Rachel got better.’
‘I-’
‘But she didn’t get better,’ he told her, his voice flat, almost ruthless. ‘Six months after she died, though, I came back to the town we’d decided was the perfect place to work. Here. So how the hell you think I’m running away…’
So much for a perfect day. She was feeling about three inches tall.
‘So I’m not hiding,’ he told her. ‘But you…’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re running from medicine.’
‘No!’
‘Then why-?’
‘Leave it.’
‘I’m damned if I will. Not without a reason. Ally, this town doesn’t need a massage therapist. It’s desperate for a doctor.’
‘It has you.’
‘We could work together. There’s plenty of work for us both to make a living.’
‘Why would I want to work with you?’ she demanded in desperation. ‘You just keep shouting at me.’
Silence. Stalemate. He was staring at her in baffled frustration.
More silence.
‘You know, you won’t make a living,’ he said at last. ‘No one will come.’
‘They might.’
‘Maybe one or two.’
‘In five minutes,’ she said, glancing at her watch, ‘I’m opening my front door as a massage therapist. I’d imagine in five minutes you’ll be starting work as you always do next door. We’re professional colleagues but in different professions. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’
‘I won’t excuse you.’
But it seemed he had no choice. There was a shout from below. A woman’s voice.
