the bright-purple tinsel. But this year this day had a huge, red ring around it on his calendar and it wasn’t to remind him to decorate. It was the day he rode out of town.
He couldn’t believe he was still here. The words, just gotta get out of this place hummed over and over in his head. He should be gone by now. Damn it, but he’d done the right thing. Hell, he always did the right thing, and the one time he wanted to take off, deserved to take off, the bloody locum had vanished somewhere between here and Adelaide. He ploughed his hand through his hair. Weeks of careful and well-thought-out planning, weeks of organisation and working toward this point so Barragong would have contiguous medical care in his absence, had all come to this.
Even his mother had managed to leave town before him. She’d organised all her foster-care arrangements and was having a few weeks off sailing on the high-Pacific seas and yet he was still stuck here. Stuck in a town that had never really let go, a town that had hauled him back once before when he’d thought he’d got away. Now it was sucking him down and sucking him dry. He was sick of being responsible; he wanted his own life, wanted to play up, live hard and be bad—if only for a short time.
‘Jack?’ A surprised voice sounded behind him. ‘We thought you’d already left.’
He turned around to see Diana Renaldi, the unit-nurse manager, resting a box marked ‘christmas decorations’ on her baby bump, and her husband Max—Barragong’s CEO and Jack’s good mate—following a few steps behind, carrying a ladder.
‘A slight delay.’ He stepped up and relieved Diana of the box and grinned. ‘Still, it gives you time to change your mind, leave the man you dumped me for and run away with me.’
She laughed. ‘The baby and I would overbalance the bike, and besides we never dated. You never date any women in this town, and if I remember correctly it was you who set Max and me up on a date.’
‘Best idea he ever had.’ Max put down the ladder, slipped his arm across Diana’s shoulder and dropped a kiss onto her forehead.
‘It was indeed.’ Jack gave them a wry smile. He might not have a clue about the right woman for himself but Diana and Max suited each other perfectly. They both wanted the same things out of life—babies, a family. He didn’t regret for a second that he’d set them up.
He loved his best friends dearly, but settling down wasn’t for him. He’d tried it once and been badly burned, and he wasn’t in a hurry to attempt it again—especially when there was a world out there with his name on it waiting to be explored. If only he could get out of Barragong.
The sound of crying made all three of them turn around. A woman in her late twenties rushed towards them, staggering under the weight of a child whose chest-heaving sobs told of his pain and distress. A bloodied gauze pad was taped rakishly on the child’s forehead.
‘Oh, Jack, thank goodness you’re still here.’ Kerry Dempsey’s frantic voice matched her wide-eyed shock. ‘Lochie fell out of the large gum in our front garden and he’s cut his head and won’t stop crying.’
Jack swallowed his sigh. He might technically be off the clock but as he couldn’t leave town he might as well be busy. He was glad to hear the child’s lusty sobs because a quiet child was more of a concern. Ruffling the mop of black hair on the boy’s head, Jack instantly shot back in time to five years earlier, remembering how Lochie had come out screaming as the first baby he’d delivered in Barragong. He’d delivered many more since and seen them through a myriad of childhood illnesses. ‘Come on then, Lochie, let’s take a look at you.’
Kerry transferred the boy into Jack’s arms and Lochie gave a gulping sob followed by a long, wet sniff. ‘My arm hurts really bad.’ The little boy was naturally splinting his right arm, keeping it pressed close to his chest.
Kerry sighed. ‘David promised Lochie they’d put up the Christmas fairy-lights in the tree when he got home tonight.’
‘Couldn’t wait for Dad, huh?’ Jack tried not to smile but Lochie had been an impulsive kid from day one, acting first and thinking much later, if at all.
Lochie nodded, his face streaked with tears and red dirt. ‘I was helping.’
‘I bet you were, but next time it’s better to wait for Dad so you don’t end up in here being patched up by me. I’ll probably need to take a special picture of your arm, but right now I’m going to shine a light in your eyes.’
He enjoyed working with kids; in fact, if he was ever surveyed about what he enjoyed most about his job, he’d probably say the paediatrics component. Whether it be at work or coaching the under-nines’ footy team, he’d learned it was best to give step-by-step explanations to kids—especially with Lochie, who often did the unexpected.
As Jack flicked on the pencil torch he asked Kerry, ‘Did he black out at all?’
The mother shook her head. ‘I don’t think so because I heard his scream as he fell, and he hasn’t stopped since.’
Jack checked the boy’s pupils for size and their response to light. ‘They’re equal and reacting, so that’s a good start.’
Diana handed him an HIC chart. ‘If you’re right without me for a few minutes, I’ll go and pull his file and start the admitting procedure.’
‘Good idea.’ It looked like a pretty straightforward case, and he’d handled a lot worse on his own. Jack pulled on a pair of gloves. ‘Time to be brave, Loch.’ He slowly eased the tape that held the gauze pad in place off the boy’s forehead.
Lochie’s protesting shriek bounced off the walls as the gauze pad came away and blood started to trickle down his small face and into his eyes. ‘Don’t do that.’ His left hand came up to fight Jack’s with pinching fingers.
Jack pressed the gauze back against the forehead, cursing how head wounds bled so profusely even if they were superficial. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but I have to look at your head because it might need more than just a plaster.’
‘No.’ Lochie’s foot kicked out hard, connecting directly with Jack’s groin.
‘Ooof.’ Jack barely managed to swallow the four-letter expletive that rose to his lips as white pain shot from his groin to his hips and radiated outward with crushing intensity. With his free hand, he gripped the edge of the trolley, trying not to double over, and somehow forced a breath into stiff and winded lungs.
Lochie’s wail hit a crescendo. Kerry’s anguished voice tried to calm Lochie and apologise to Jack and all the while Jack’s head spun with a rain of silver dots. Focus was impossible.
‘Can I be of help?’ The polite and softly spoken question, asked in a clear and precise English accent, broke through the chaos.
Jack raised his head and slowly the silver dots receded as his eyes merged into focus, settling on the most abundant mass of flame-red spiral curls he’d ever seen. They spilled out of a ponytail in defiant tresses, declaring themselves far too independent to be contained by a mere, inconsequential band of elastic. They tumbled down both sides of an alabaster forehead where they sat close to a pair of luminous eyes which stared straight at him. Their gaze was so clear and full of the promise of excitement and adventure, it was as if they’d thrown a lasso around him and were drawing him into their depths.
Jack felt himself sway towards her as his groin recovered fast and the first non-painful sensation since Lochie’s kick surged through him. The first pleasurable sensation to happen in months. He jerked back, gulped in a deep breath, but the whoosh of heat tripled—deliciously so.
He knew he was staring but he was having trouble moving his gaze. He’d expected eyes of green or blue with titian hair, but instead they were the rich and seductive colour of fine Swiss milk-chocolate. Ringed with brown, thick lashes, they sat above a snub nose dusted with freckles and a mouth that curved up on one side in a lop-sided smile. Glossy-magazine pretty she wasn’t but he didn’t care—she’d had him with one glance of those amazing eyes.
After