Hijacked Honeymoon

CHAPTER FIVE

ABBEY woke to breakfast.

There was a smell of bacon, wafting around her, and her nose twitched in appreciation before she opened her eyes. When she did lift a cautious eyelid the first thing she saw was a breakfast tray.

The second was Ryan Henry.

‘Well, well.’ Ryan was lifting the lid from her eggs and bacon and nodding his approval of what lay underneath. ‘You’ve decided to join the land of the living. Excellent. I’d have let you sleep longer but I wanted to bully you into breakfast before clinic. I’ve heard you should always eat a big breakfast on the first day of your honeymoon. It’s medically recommended.’

‘I… You…’ Abbey winced and stirred-and then stared. This was crazy. Last night she’d settled down on a couch in the waiting room. Now… She cast a wary glance at Ryan and then cautiously lifted her bedclothes.

And yelped.

‘Is something wrong?’ Ryan enquired blandly.

‘My clothes…’ Abbey hauled her bedcovers up to her nose and glared. ‘What happened to my clothes?’

‘You sound as if you’re naked,’ Ryan complained. ‘Which, considering the amount of trouble Sister and I had getting you into a hospital gown, is a tad unappreciative. I know for a honeymoon you really should have something sheer and sexy-preferably black-but I’m afraid hospital green was all we could come up with.’

Abbey was no longer listening. She couldn’t care less what she was wearing. It was the identity of the person who’d dressed her-or rather who’d undressed her-that was important here.

‘Sister dressed me?’ she asked cautiously, sitting up with her bedclothes still up to her neck.

‘I helped, but only as far as was decent.’ Ryan smiled. ‘You don’t remember? Your clothes were disgusting. I was afraid they’d infect your scratches if we left you in them any longer.’

‘My T-shirt…’

‘I didn’t like it,’ Ryan said, as if that clinched the matter. ‘And your shorts were torn already.’

‘What have you done with my T-shirt and shorts?’ Abbey demanded in a voice that was loaded with portent For answer, Ryan pointed to a pair of scissors on the bedside table.

‘All gone.’ It was an imitation of Ted’s voice that he used when discussing a death. Pull of ghoul-like relish. ‘We disturbed you less by cutting them off. Ted took ‘em away to use as dusters down in the morgue. We figured that’s the best place for them. Now, if I were you, I’d eat some breakfast before it gets cold. Considering the amount of trouble Cook’s gone to on your behalf, letting this lot get cold would be a real shame.’

‘Ryan, I want my clothes.’

‘They’re in a million pieces.’ Ryan handed her a slice of toast. ‘Bite.’

Abbey bit. And glared.

‘Problem?’ Ryan enquired politely. He stood back with his arms folded and watched her-doctor watching interesting specimen. Ryan was dressed in fresh trousers and an open-necked, short-sleeved shirt. His wavy brown hair was neatly brushed. He looked like he’d had about twelve hours sleep instead of a scant six and he was showered and freshly shaved. Ryan Henry was a doctor in charge of his world again.

Which Abbey definitely wasn’t.

However, she was hungry. She bit into her toast once more, trying to get her thoughts in order. There’d been Janet’s casserole last night, but she’d eaten hardly any before they’d been called to help Sam. And the smell was fabulous.

‘What are you going to do about my clothes?’ It was tricky to talk with a mouthful of toast when one was concentrating on glaring at the same time, but Abbey managed it, no sweat.

‘Nothing,’ Ryan told her. ‘They were appalling. They certainly don’t deserve burial honours, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

Abbey didn’t smile. She concentrated fiercely on her breakfast, not looking at Ryan. For some reason, the sight of Ryan Henry standing beside her bed, surveying her with an air of proprietary interest, unnerved her completely. Abbey lifted a piece of bacon and inspected it from all angles. And decided not to take offence at the bacon. In it went. ‘They were the only clothes I have,’ she said between mouthfuls.

‘Surely not!’ Ryan’s eyebrows rose in polite disbelief. ‘Abbey, I know you’re poor, but I find it hard to believe you spend your entire life as a doctor, a farmer and a mother dressed in the one T-shirt.’

‘OK, smarty-boots!’ Abbey glowered. ‘I meant they were the only clothes I have here. Ryan, you were supposed to take me home.’

‘You passed out before I could. I never send unconscious patients home. It’s against medical ethics. And you’ve been unconscious for over twelve hours.’

‘I was asleep. You knew very well I was just asleep.’ Abbey lifted a fork and attacked her egg-and then paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Did you say twelve hours?’ She swivelled to look at the bedside clock. And gasped. ‘Nine… Oh, glory, it’s nine o‘clock. Ryan, how could you?’ Her fork clattered onto her plate, forgotten, and her legs swung sideways.

To be blocked by Ryan.

‘So, where do you think you’re going?’

‘Home,’ Abbey said in a distressed voice. ‘Ryan, it’s nine o’clock. The cows will be frantic and Janet will try to milk them herself and there’s no one to look after Jack while she does, even if she could manage the milking, and-’

‘Ted’s organised your cows.’

‘Ted…’

‘I intended to milk them but Ted tells me there’s any number of local farmers willing to roster themselves to milk your herd,’ Ryan said. His hands moved to her shoulders and he held her still, brooking no argument. ‘Ted says the locals think the world of you. If you need help, all you have to do is ask. This morning Ted asked on your behalf. He was inundated with offers.’

‘No!’ Abbey’s face creased in distress. ‘I won’t ask for help. Everyone did so much. When John died… When he was in the coma… I was pregnant and they helped so much. Everyone helped. I don’t need help any more. We can stand on our own feet.’

‘You mean you don’t need their help ever again?’ Ryan asked.

‘No. I don’t. I won’t.’

‘Yet Ted tells me there’s not a person living within a thirty-mile radius of Sapphire Cove who doesn’t use your help,’ Ryan said thoughtfully. ‘You do house calls at all hours. You’ve bullied the government into subsidies so this hospital could be built. You’ve given the community medical treatment that’s never been available before. Ted says you give and give and give-and everyone wants desperately to give something back. What’s the old adage here, Abbey? It’s better to give than receive? Well, sometimes it’s only fair to let the giving be both ways.’

‘You don’t understand.’ Abbey shook her head and pushed her tousled curls back from her face. ‘Janet will-’

‘I’ve talked to Janet,’ Ryan told her. ‘I was out there an hour ago, checking everything was going OK. I’ve told her I’m keeping you in hospital today to give that leg a chance to settle. If you’re good then you can go home tomorrow. I’ve organised Marcia over the road to come and give Janet a hand with Jack-if necessary she’ll do that for the next week so you can rest-and the local farmers are arranging a roster system with the milking until your leg’s OK. Until I say your leg’s OK. And Janet… ’

‘Janet will hate it.’

‘She was upset,’ Ryan admitted, ‘but I told her your health was at stake. I gave her the same lecture about giving and receiving as I gave you and she’s content.’

‘She’d never agree…’

‘She has.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

But Ryan wasn’t listening. He’d picked up the bedside phone and was dialling. ‘Let her tell you herself. Don’t believe me, oh ye of little faith. Talk to Janet.’

And thirty seconds later Abbey replaced the receiver and stared up at Ryan, totally bewildered.

‘I don’t know how you did that.’

‘Pure charm.’ Ryan smiled his most enigmatic smile and pointed to Abbey’s breakfast. ‘Now eat.’ He hauled a chair up and sat himself down-a man at ease with his world. ‘There are things I need help with now, Abbey. Just keep eating while I fire questions.’

‘Like?’

‘I’m not asking anything while you’re not eating.’

‘OK. OK. I’m eating.’ Abbey shoved a mouthful of egg home and frowned. ‘I don’t understand any of this. You can’t just organise my life.’

‘It’s not your life now,’ Ryan pointed out. ‘We made a bargain. I drove too fast, I hurt your leg and I’m paying. You’re on my honeymoon. I’m on your duties. You…’

But Abbey was no longer listening. Another anxiety had just crowded in. ‘Ryan, how’s Sam? How’s your father?’ It was a fast change of tack but it was the way Abbey’s mind was working. Leapfrogging from one worry to another.

‘Dad’s OK.’ Ryan’s air of a man in charge slipped a little. ‘I have the feeling what happened last night was crescendo angina, rather than a full-blown heart attack, as he’s settled fast, but the damage that’s already been done… Well, I wish I could say he’s fine but he’s holding his own.’

‘He needs by-pass surgery, and he needs it now.’

‘He won’t go. I pushed it this morning-’

‘How long have you been up?’ Abbey demanded, off on another track, and Ryan shrugged.

‘Since five. I gave our jellyfish victim more morphine at five. The pain takes a long time to wear off from those damned things. After that it was hardly worth going back to bed. My father was awake so we talked.’

‘About by-passes?’

‘That and other things. He won’t do it.’

Abbey nodded. ‘I told you, Ryan. He wants to die.’

‘That’s crazy.’

‘It’s not crazy. Think about it. All he has is a son who hasn’t been near him for seventeen years.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake… ’

Abbey shook her head as she saw the rigid look on Ryan’s face. ‘OK. I know. This is none of my business. Apart from your father, tell me what else you need help with.’

Ryan’s set look eased a little. ‘Did I say needed help?’

‘Yes, you did and it floored me,’ Abbey said bluntly. ‘The great Ryan Henry, needing help!’

Ryan’s anger gave way to bewilderment at the sudden laughter in Abbey’s eyes. If there was one thing he was unaccustomed to, it was being teased. He shook his head. ‘Abbey, for some reason… Am I wrong, or am I getting the impression that you think I’m an autocratic, selfopinionated-’

‘Yep. All of the above.’

‘I’m not.’

‘No? I suppose you’re a really thoughtful, considerate human being.’

‘I might be.’

‘Well, if you’re so thoughtful, you didn’t by any chance…’ Abbey cast him a hopeful look ‘… bring me some clothes when you went out to see Janet?’

‘Nope.’

‘There you are, then. Autocratic, unfeeling, inconsiderate…’

Ryan sighed. He and Abbey seemed destined to spend the morning sparring. ‘OK, Abbey. Enough. Just fill me in on a few histories here. I need a verbal changeover. Your patient notes are nigh on unintelligible.’

‘I guess that’s because I’m the only one who ever reads them,’ Abbey admitted contritely. ‘I’m not used to handing over. Tell you what. Find me some clothes and I’ll do a ward round with you and hand over personally.’

‘You’re not getting dressed. And you’re not going anywhere.’

‘Ryan…’

‘No.’

‘What if I stay in a wheelchair?’ Abbey said meekly. ‘And promise to act subservient all the time.’

‘Abbey…’

‘Please?’ She smiled, and her smile lit up her eyes. It really was the loveliest smile.

Ryan caved in. He always had.

He stared down at her, baulked and baffled, and then he sighed. ‘OK, Abbey. Ten minutes. I’ll bring a wheelchair and a dressing-gown back here in ten minutes but if you haven’t eaten every scrap of your breakfast you’re not going anywhere.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Sapphire Cove Bush Nursing Hospital boasted fifteen beds, twelve of which were full. Four of those were nursing home patients, which left eight acute cases to discuss. All eight patients were agog to see their accustomed doctor being pushed around in a wheelchair, her bandaged leg stuck straight out before her on a support board-and being propelled by a man many of them vaguely recognised from almost twenty years ago.

‘Ryan Henry…’ Old Mr Thomlinson gave a wheezy chuckle and held out his hand in greeting. ‘Well, well. Back in your old partnership, I see.’

‘Partnership?’

‘You and Abbey.’ Bert Thomlinson looked from Ryan down to Abbey and grinned at the memory. ‘Caught the pair of you swimming out to the reef and pinching crayfish from my traps when you were about twelve and eight years old apiece. Like two little fish, you were, diving down and hauling crays out of the trap. You were letting the little ones go, you told me, and gave me a lecture on catching babies.’ He chortled. ‘At the time I felt like tanning the hides of the pair of you, but you know what? I’ve never kept an undersized lobster since.’ He broke into a fit of coughing and Abbey clucked reproof.

‘That’s what you get for telling tales out of school, Bert Thomlinson.’ She looked up at Ryan. ‘Bert’s recovering from two nasty patches of pneumonia affecting both lungs. Caught, no doubt, from going fishing late at night and not getting out of wet clothes. And I don’t believe you’ve reformed, Bert. I’ll bet you were still catching undersized crays.’

‘I never would,’ Bert said, wounded. ‘The look of you back then, Abbey… No higher than my waist, standing there with your fingers all bloody from getting nipped and making me sound like a child murderer for catching baby crays. And young Ryan standing in front of you, ready to defend you to the death…’ He fell back on his pillows and smiled. ‘Well, it does me good to see the pair of you back together again, even if it took a busted leg to do it.’

That was pretty much the opinion of the entire older population of the hospital. Ryan found he was recognised with real pleasure, and he also discovered that he liked the sensation. Very much.

The best greeting, though, was from his father. Ryan only had to walk into his father’s room for the old man’s eyes to light up with delight.

Double delight when he saw Abbey.

‘How’s the leg?’ Sam demanded, reaching out and gripping Ryan’s hand between his attached tubes. Abbey saw the gesture with resignation. Did Ryan really not realise how much his father loved him? Did he really not realise that Sam needed a lot more than duty letters from his beloved son?

‘Better than your heart. Sam, you have to get this by-pass,’ Abbey said bluntly.

‘So Ryan says. But there’s no have to about it. It’s my heart. I can do what I like with it.’

‘Like let it stop?’

‘Abbey…’

Abbey took a deep breath. She glanced uncertainly up at Ryan and then turned her attention solely to Ryan’s father. And took a chance…

‘Sam, would it help if Ryan told you he’ll look after your farm while you have the operation, and that he‘ll stay until you’re on the mend again?’

Silence.

Ryan said nothing.

That didn’t mean Ryan’s mind wasn’t working, though. Good grief. What was Abbey saying? Abbey was just committing him here. Committing him to stay here for a month or more.

‘But… Abbey, I can’t…’ he said blankly.

‘Of course you can’t.’ Sam’s voice was tired, and bleak, and absolutely final. ‘That’s stupid, Abbey. Ryan has his career back in the USA. He just can’t dump it to look after me. And he has this lady-Felicity isn’t it, son? Felicity won’t want to stick around here with a sick old man.’

Felicity wouldn’t. Of course she wouldn’t. Felicity was an oncologist-a cancer specialist-as expert in her field as Ryan was in his. She’d had trouble slotting a honeymoon into her busy schedule anyway. To extend the honeymoon for a few weeks…

Impossible. Impossible for both of them. Felicity was needed back at work as much as Ryan.

But Sam was fading back into the pillows and his grip on Ryan’s hand had eased. It was as if, for a brief moment, Sam had allowed himself to show his need for his son, and now he was schooling himself to let go.

And Abbey’s face was absolutely expressionless.

Ryan’s gut tightened. Hell, there was only so much of this a man could take. It was an impossible thing to ask. It was impossible to stay. But… With Sam’s hand in his and Abbey looking at him like that… It was impossible for him to go.

‘I meant I can’t see why not,’ Ryan said strongly-roughly-and his hand tightened on his father’s, re-establishing the link. Re-establishing the need. ‘I can keep up with my research work over here. There’s articles I need to write up and I have my lap-top computer with me. I have everything I need.’

Of course he had his lap-top with him. To go on a honeymoon without work was unthinkable.

To stay away from work for more than two weeks was unthinkable. The reorganisation that would have to be done was unbelievable. And there was Richard Crogin to worry about. Richard was after Ryan’s job, and if Ryan was away…

But suddenly all that mattered was the link between his father’s hand and his-and the luminous glow that was beaming straight up at him from Abbey.

‘You mean it?’ Abbey asked breathlessly. ‘Oh, Ryan… ’

Ryan’s resolution firmed.

‘Of course I mean it.’ He looked down at his father. ‘If you agree to the surgery then I’ll stay for at least a month.’

Sam blinked. He looked up at his son in bewilderment, and Abbey felt her delight fade. Maybe it wasn’t enough. Abbey’s own heart sank. For Ryan to promise a month… There was nothing promised for the end of that month. There was no commitment to a future for the old man in that. One month, a couple of weeks of which Sam would spend in hospital in Cairns…

Maybe Sam still wouldn’t agree.

But Sam was looking from Ryan to Abbey with eyes that were lightening by the minute. There was a spark of interest glowing in their depths that Abbey hadn’t seen for years.

‘What about your Felicity?’ Sam asked his son.

‘I’ll talk to Felicity,’ Ryan said heavily. ‘We might have to reorganise things.’

‘Put the wedding off?’

‘I don’t know.’ Was Ryan imagining it or was there a tiny hopeful note behind Sam’s words? ‘I’ll have to talk to her. Maybe she’ll come out, we’ll get married and she’ll go back before me.’ That might be the best plan. Then, again, Felicity might decide she wanted a real honeymoon and put everything off until they could take more time away together. Which would be a year or more from now.

It didn’t matter.

The thought of a delay to their wedding-and its seeming irrelevance-made Ryan frown. It didn’t matter if their wedding was put off? Why?

Never mind. He could think of Felicity later. For now there was his father’s agreement to gain. His father’s health. That was the important thing. That was why he didn’t have room to worry about Felicity.

There couldn’t be any other reason.

‘You need to agree, Dad,’ he said, and met his father’s eyes directly. ‘I want you to have this surgery. The way your heart is now-well, you could have a full-blown heart attack at any minute and you could die. And I badly don’t want that to happen.’

‘You meant that?’

‘Of course I mean it.’ And he did. For twenty years Ryan had been carrying the look of his father as he and his mother had boarded the plane away from here. His father’s look had been blank, expressionless, and-Ryan had thought-uncaring.

Abbey had told him that he was wrong to believe his father uncaring. And suddenly he believed Abbey.

His father loved him and it was a damned good feeling. He didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose Sam now, when he had just discovered that he had a father after all. A real father. Not a pen at the end of a series of duty letters.

And Sam was looking from Abbey to Ryan and back again.

And smiling.

‘Well, I guess I’d better have that surgery after all,’ he whispered. ‘You say you’ll stay a month?’

‘A month.’

‘Well, anything can happen in a month,’ Sam said ambiguously. ‘It’s worth taking a risk on.’

Abbey didn’t see Ryan again for another few hours. He settled her back into bed-once more refusing her request for clothes-and gave instructions for the nursing staff not to let her out of bed. Then he took himself off to do her clinic. Ryan came back into the hospital at eleven when the ambulance arrived to transport his father to Cairns, but by then Abbey was dead to the world.

It was as if Abbey’s exhaustion of the last few months-or maybe the last few years-had finally caught up with her. That, and the shock of the accident the day before, let her sleep the sleep of the dead. Janet and Jack and her cows and farm were in safe hands. Her clinic was in Ryan’s hands. Sam was having his by-pass.

For once all was right with her world. She slept.

She woke briefly at lunch to find Eileen hovering over her with orders to see she ate every mouthful, and then she slept again. When she woke once more Ryan was standing over her bed, smiling down at her with satisfaction.

‘If you don’t wake up soon you’ll miss bedtime,’ he warned, and Abbey managed a sleepy smile.

‘It can’t be bedtime. No one’s bullied me into dinner yet’

Ryan looked at his watch. ‘You’re right. It’s five-thirty. Dinner at six and bedtime at seven.’

Abbey nodded. The idea had immediate appeal. ‘I don’t know why I’m doing this,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not like I was really hurt yesterday.’

‘No? You’re telling me you’re not aching in every bone in your body? Truly, Abbey?’

Abbey stirred and checked herself out. Every bone? Well, maybe. Every bone certainly complained.

‘Yeah, well, it’s only bruising.’

‘I know.’ Ryan touched her lightly on the cheek-a touch that sent Abbey’s senses screaming. ‘Plus the fact that you’re exhausted.’ He hauled a chair over and sat down. ‘Abbey, you can’t keep going like this,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve seen your medical workload now. This community needs two doctors-or at least one and a half. And, with Jack to care for and the farm to run, you should be the half.’

‘No.’ Abbey shook her head with decision. ‘No way.’

‘Because someone else would take over some of the limelight? Because you like being the town’s only doctor?’

‘That’s unfair,’ Abbey said firmly. ‘Ryan, I’d let go if I could, but finding another doctor to move to a rural area… ’

‘Even an area as beautiful as Sapphire Cove?’

‘Doctors want big hospitals and specialists on call and private schools and universities on tap for their children,’ Abbey told him. ‘I thought your mother would have drilled into you what an unsuitable place Sapphire Cove is to live. I shouldn’t have to.’

She had. Ryan flinched.

‘But even so, Abbey…’

‘Even so, I can’t afford to work less. I have debts.’

‘John’s debts?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Maybe, but I had a talk to one of your patients this afternoon,’ Ryan told her. ‘Mr Ellis. The local bank manager. He came in with shingles.’

‘Shingles…’ Abbey screwed up her nose, her attention diverted. ‘Oh, no. The poor man. Shingles is so painful. Did you start him on acyclovir?’ She pushed herself up on her pillows. ‘Ryan, it’ll be a new treatment since you trained. You must start him on that in the first twenty-four hours. It really does stop shingles in its tracks-quarters the time of discomfort. If you haven’t been around as a general practitioner for-’

‘I know all about acyclovir,’ Ryan told her, and then smiled at her look of disbelief. ‘Don’t worry. I know I’m out of touch with general practice but I’ve figured a really efficient way of sounding as if I know what I’m talking about while I’m seeing your patients. I’ve hooked up to the Internet. On the Internet I can play doctor-patient in a virtual hospital. All I have to do is type ‘shingles’ and out comes all the latest treatments and references to all the current literature. Excerpts and précis included.’

‘You mean you leave the patient-’

‘I have my lap-top computer on my desk,’ he told her smugly. ‘I tell the patient I’m recording details of their case as I go, and all the time I’m asking what the heck the latest treatment for shingles is. Then I do a fast search of Mims-on compact disc-and I find the drug dosages and brand names and everything I need to make myself sound intelligent.

‘Oh, and by the way.’ He smiled. ‘In case you were worrying, I rang the medical board and they’ve given me emergency registration as an interim measure.’

‘Oh, Ryan… ’ Abbey’s hand flew up to her mouth. ‘I forgot.’

‘Understandable.’ He smiled again, his lazy, caring smile that ran right through her. ‘You’re not well, Abbey. And not just because of the accident. You’ve run yourself into the ground. And Mr Ellis says-’

‘You shouldn’t have been discussing me with my bank manager,’ Abbey said fretfully, and Ryan shook his head.

‘I haven’t been discussing you with anyone. I’ve simply been listening while one patient after another has come in, berated me for knocking you off your bicycle and then told me how worried they are about you. And Mr Ellis has done more than that. He tells me the debts you’re paying off are gambling debts incurred when John was under such pressure he didn’t know what he was doing. He says he’s advised you strongly to declare yourself bankrupt, wipe the slate clean and start again.’

‘How can I do that?’

‘Simple. Find yourself a lawyer and do it. He also said you can’t lose the farm. Your home’s exempt and, with Janet and Jack living there, too, it’s doubly insured. He said you could have stayed living where you were.’

‘And have Jack growing up with people knowing his father owed them money he never repaid,’ Abbey said simply. ‘No, thank you. This is my problem, Ryan, and I’ll thank you to butt out of it.’ She swallowed but the expression on her face of grim determination didn’t waver. ‘Who… who else did you see in clinic?’

And Ryan stared down, baffled. It had seemed so simple when Brian Ellis had explained it to him. Abbey should declare herself bankrupt, get rid of her debts and then find another doctor to take over at least half her workload. And Ryan could walk away with a clear conscience.

Not yet he couldn’t. Not for a month…

But at the end of the month? When his father was recovered from his surgery? Ryan wanted to be able to walk away from here, knowing that his friend’s security was assured. And how could he do that if she was going to be obstinate and proud and stubborn as a mule?

But he didn’t want her any other way.

‘Tell me who else you saw in clinic,’ Abbey insisted, and Ryan blinked. He wasn’t used to this. He was accustomed to being in charge. To people coming to him when they were in trouble and demanding his help. Well, Abbey had accepted his help-albeit grudgingly-for a week, but not after that. And he found himself thinking how impossible it would be to live with himself, knowing he’d left her like this. Burdened with work. Burdened with debt and responsibility.

‘As I said, most cases I found I could handle,’ he told her, forcing his mind back to the patients he’d seen. ‘I had old Angus Harvey with an infection on his penis. Walked in and said-straight-faced, “Doc, there’s a ring round me old bloke and it ain’t lipstick”! That was the hardest part of my day, trying to keep a straight face and treat his infection at the same time…’

‘You sound like you enjoyed it,’ Abbey said wonderingly, and Ryan grinned.

‘To tell you the truth, I did. Oh, and I saw Mrs Miller. She came in to get her ulcer dressed again.’ He shook his head. ‘She must just like doctors, Abbey. The ulcer didn’t need dressing.’

‘Did you ask her what was worrying her?’ Abbey asked anxiously, and Ryan frowned.

‘I told you. She wanted her ulcer dressed.’

‘And I told you, there’s something else troubling Marg Miller.’ Abbey shook her head. ‘Men! You have no intuition at all. It’s not her ulcer she’s worried about. It’s her son. There’s something wrong with Ian. I’m sure of it. Mrs Miller wouldn’t worry like this for herself. He must be in some sort of trouble.’

‘Her son…’ Ryan frowned. ‘Ian Miller. I think I remember him. He’s my age-a bit older.’

‘That’s right. He’s living in Sydney.’

‘And you think he might be ill?’

‘I have no idea,’ Abbey said with asperity. ‘If you’d asked, you might have found out.’

‘Ian’s not my patient.’

‘He’s not mine either. I haven’t seen him for years. But his well-being is affecting my patient and therefore I worry. That’s what a good general practitioner does.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Ryan said dryly. ‘I’m an orthopaedic surgeon, remember.’ He paused, waiting for comment. Waiting for Abbey to apologise.

No apology was forthcoming.

The silence stretched out to an embarrassing length. Clearly Abbey’s opinion of orthopaedic surgeons-or one orthopedic surgeon in particular-was less than flattering.

‘I’ll telephone her,’ Abbey said at last.

‘No.’ Ryan shook his head. ‘If you really think there’s something happening that’s serious then I’ll telephone and talk to her again.’

‘You wouldn’t consider going out there and talking to her face to face?’

‘Abbey!’ Ryan said explosively. ‘Don’t push me…’

‘I can only try.’ She ventured a teasing grin. ‘And you can only say no.’

‘I’ll go if I have time, but I will telephone,’ Ryan promised, a man driven against the ropes. He sighed. ‘And you might like to know Janet’s agreed for me to replace her hip next Monday. I can organise it by then.’

‘Next…’ Abbey stared. ‘You mean you will do it?’

‘I said I’d do it. Why should you doubt me?’

‘But next Monday…’ Abbey frowned. ‘Ryan, it’s only Monday now. That’s a whole week away. I’ll be back working by then.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Ryan said roughly. ‘There’s been a change in plan. Janet will need at least three weeks before she can think of looking after Jack again. So… you stay home full time and look after Jack for two weeks and I organise help. We need help for me for the next two weeks and then for you when Sam comes home from hospital.’

‘Help?’ Abbey shook her head, dazed.

‘There’s a locum arriving tomorrow. Steve Pryor. I’ve rung a few contacts in Brisbane and they tell me he’s good. We’re lucky he’s free at short notice.’

Disregarding her aching bones, Abbey sat up in bed with a jolt. ‘Ryan Henry, you can’t do this. I can’t afford-’

‘No, but I can.’

‘But I can’t!’

‘Abbey, it’s my job I’m sharing for a bit here,’ Ryan reminded her, ‘not yours.’

‘You agreed to work the week.’

‘Yes,’ Ryan agreed, his voice gentling. ‘And I’m not going back on that promise. ‘I promised to look after your practice for a week. But Dad’s surgery is scheduled for the day after tomorrow and I want to be in Cairns during his operation. And maybe for twenty-four hours afterwards.’

‘Oh, Ryan…’ Abbey’s face creased in distress. ‘Of course. I didn’t think of that. But I can look after things. By the day after tomorrow-’

‘I’ve organised tomorrow, too,’ Ryan said blandly. ‘About my honeymoon… ’

‘Ryan-’

‘Just shut up and listen,’ he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Abbey, there is no need for you to get your knickers in a knot about my arrangements. Tomorrow I’m taking you out of here and driving you to your honeymoon destination.’

‘Honeymoon…’ Abbey stared. She was starting to feel as if her world was tilting sideways on its axis. And any minute now she’d fall right off.

‘Well, Felicity and I weren’t intending to stay with Dad for our honeymoon,’ Ryan told her. ‘Felicity organised us a place on the beach ten minutes’ drive from here. That’s where you’re going. Tomorrow.’

‘But, Ryan, even if I could, I don’t want to,’ Abbey wailed. ‘I want my little Jack. I want Janet.’

‘Now, how did I know you’d say that?’ Ryan grinned. ‘That’s all organised. I agree with you that Janet could use a rest as well as you and I’d like her fit to face surgery. So I rang the owners of the place we booked and they’ve swapped the booking from a one-bedroom to a two-bedroom unit. So… I’ve given the same ultimatum to Janet as I give to you. Pack and be ready for your honeymoon by tomorrow morning or I’ll pick you up and take you in what you’re wearing at the time.’ His grin deepened. ‘And I mean that, Abbey Wittner.’

Then his grin faded at the look of dazed incredulity on Abbey’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’ To Ryan’s astonishment, Abbey’s eyes were filling with tears. ‘Abbey, for heaven’s sake…’

‘A holiday… You really mean a holiday?’ Abbey choked. ‘Ryan, I haven’t had a holiday for years. You can’t really mean… I don’t deserve this.’

‘I think you do, Abbey,’ Ryan said quietly. He stooped and kissed her on the cheek. His hand came down and cupped the curve of her grazed and bandaged cheek, wiping away an errant tear. ‘If anyone deserves a honeymoon you do-and it’s all my pleasure to be able to give you one.’

And what Felicity would say when she realised he’d given away the magic honeymoon destination she’d spent days researching, he hated to think.

Felicity, however, seemed a very long way away.

Felicity was for tomorrow.