gritted her teeth against her conscience and told herself she had the right to be here. Mustering up a smile, the winning one she’d used a lot as a child to get her own way, she forced her hand to stay hovering between them despite wanting to whip it back by her side and dry the sweat on her jeans. All she needed to do was explain who she was and her plan would be safe. ‘I’m Lucy Patterson. You emailed me about William.’
‘You’re William’s daughter?’ Chocolate brows shot halfway up an intelligent forehead and his gaze raked her from head to toe as disbelief momentarily pushed his anger aside.
She was used to this reaction, having experienced it often from the age of sixteen when it had become obvious she was never going to grow any taller. Once it had made her laugh and she’d had a steady stream of jokes at the ready about her and William’s excessive height differences. Only that had been before everything had changed and a lifetime lie had been exposed. ‘Like I said, I’m Lucy Patterson.’ She tilted her extended hand slightly.
He slowly uncrossed his folded arms and slid his right palm against hers, his long fingers curving around her hand like a splash of dark paint against a white canvas. The heat burned her, shooting up her arm before diving deep and leaving behind a trail of addictive tingles and shivers.
Oh, no. Not now and not here. Shocked at her body’s reaction, she abruptly pulled her hand away to the safety of her side. After the debacle that had been her relationship with Daniel, she didn’t want or need any type of attraction to any man. Especially one in Bulla Creek where she wouldn’t live again even if they paid her.
Marco didn’t seem to have noticed her hasty end to their handshake. ‘Lucy Patterson, why are you here?’
Lucy wondered if perhaps his English wasn’t as good as she’d assumed. She smiled again. ‘You wrote to me and asked me to come, so here I am.’
Two deep lines etched into the bridge of his nose. ‘I asked you to come and visit your father, not the computer in this office.’
The muscles in her cheeks ached from the continual bright smile. A smile that didn’t seem to be having any effect on its intended target. She went for chatty. ‘I’m not sure what doctors are like where you come from, but in Australia the combination of being male and a doctor makes the worst type of patient.’
Marco tilted his head in thought and a curl fell forward. ‘This may be.’
Yes, she was getting somewhere. ‘So it makes sense for me to read his medical history before I see him.’
So now you’re lying to other people and not just yourself.
Again, she silenced her conscience. Let me do things my way.
Marco continued to stare at her with a questioning look. ‘But you are not William’s doctor.’
‘No, but I am a doctor.’
Again his gaze censored her. ‘Then you should know better.’
She tossed her head, overriding the sliver of guilt that pierced her and instead converted it into righteous indignation. ‘William hasn’t mentioned to me that he broke his leg and at his age a fall can be a sign of other things so it makes sense for me to read his file.’
‘Your father is not so ill that he can’t speak. William is very capable of telling you the information.’ A look of realisation suddenly shone brightly in his enigmatic eyes. ‘Have you spoken to him?’
She shrugged so as not to squirm and held onto her bravado. ‘Thank you for emailing me, but I’ve got it all under control.’ She moved back toward the computer.
In two long strides he was by her side with his hands on her upper arms and suddenly her feet left the floor.
Abject offence roared through her. ‘Hey! Put me down.’
A moment later, she was back on terra firma with Marco, feet wide apart, standing solidly between her and the computer and blocking her path.
His glare matched hers—incensed and scowling. ‘As William’s doctor and partner in this practice, I will not allow you to read his file without his permission.’
She held onto her dignity by a thread. ‘I’m his next of kin.’
‘Sí, so you know that does not give you the right to read his file.’ His hand shot out. ‘You have a key to the clinic?’
Her arms shot over her chest as guilt and anger hammered her. ‘I’m not giving it to you.’
‘You do not work here and I do not trust you.’
‘I grew up here.’ Words spluttered in her throat, chained by a rush of conflicting emotions that made her sway. ‘God, I spent so many Saturday mornings playing in the waiting room that it was my second home. You’re the stranger here, buddy, not me.’
He didn’t even flinch. If anything he seemed more implacable than ever and the quietness of his voice didn’t hide for a moment his firm intent. ‘Go and talk with your father.’
The prospect of talking to William had anxiety and heartache making her feet twitch in readiness to run far from Bulla Creek. ‘I will read that file.’
He shook his head. ‘Not without William’s permission.’
‘Fine, I’ll ask Sue.’
His jaw stiffened. ‘I think that Sue is disappointed that you have not been to see your father in a long time. She will side with me.’
She swallowed hard, hating that the town might have turned on her without knowing the full story. Her hands shot out in bitter aggravation. ‘This isn’t how we do things in the country.’
This time one brow rose sardonically. ‘So, you would let anyone read your patients’ files where you work? If this is so, I would not want to be under your care.’
The shot against her professionalism jolted her hard.
You know he’s right. From before he caught you trying to read the file you’ve known he was right.
My situation is different. She harnessed all her frustration, using it to push away the other emotions that threatened to swamp her the way they had on and off over the last six months. She fisted her hands by her sides. ‘You know nothing about me, Dr Rodriguez, and therefore not enough to judge me.’
Before he could reply, she pushed past him, stalking out into the fading light and back to her car, homeless in a town she’d once called home. Only then did she allow herself to cry.
CHAPTER TWO
‘PAPÁ?’
Marco lay on his son’s bed as part of their ‘goodnight’ ritual. ‘Yes.’
‘No boys …” Ignacio spoke slowly, each word an effort to form perfectly. He breathed in ‘… have crutches.’
Marco tried to keep the tension out of his voice. ‘Lots of boys use crutches.’
‘Not at school. Not in town. I looked.’
Marco swallowed a familiar sigh. ‘You are right. No other boys in Bulla Creek use crutches, but you’re special.’
‘No. I’m not.’ Ignacio’s voice rose and his small body spasmed, making it even more rigid than its usual state. ‘I’m different. I don’t like it.’
Each word pierced Marco’s heart. A part of him knew that one day his wonderful son would make the connection that he didn’t have the same free and easy control of his body as most other boys his age. Marco had hoped however that the realisation would come much later than at a mere five years of age. The irony of it all was that inside a body that failed Ignacio daily on so many levels was a mind that was sharp and fiercely intelligent.
‘Querido, your crutches are your friend