Prescription-One Husband

CHAPTER THREE

LIZZY wasn’t home.

Fern knocked once on Lizzy’s front door but didn’t wait for an answer. Lizzy would hardly be here. Not if there was trouble.

She’d be down on the hiding boat-a wreck of an old fishing boat that Lizzy had treated as a refuge since a child.

Below Lizzy’s house was an estuary, scattered with oyster leases and overhung at the sides with giant willows. Lizzy’s grandfather had planted the willows sixty years before on a cleared estuary bank but the natural rainforest had returned, pushing its way around and through the growing willows in an impermeable mass.

Not quite impermeable…If you knew the way…

Lizzy had shown Fern the way-when life had been bad for Lizzy as a teenager and she’d desperately needed a friend. She’d led Fern down through the rainforest to where the ancient boat still miraculously floated under the willows. Lizzy’s family had a proper fishing boat moored at Barega jetty. This boat was one only she and Fern knew of.

‘It’s my private place,’ Lizzy had whispered all those years ago. ‘When Dad’s giving me a hard time I come here.’

Lizzy’s dad had given her a hard time all too often. Her mum had departed, never to be seen again, soon after Lizzy’s birth and Lizzy’s dad had taken the brunt of his bitterness out on his daughter.

It wasn’t all Lizzy’s fault that she was half-crazy.

Fern climbed silently down through the undergrowth, knowing that Lizzy was just as likely as not to run if she knew that Fern was coming. Finally, when she reached the boat she swung herself swiftly down, blocking the door to the cabin with her body.

Lizzy was inside.

She was crouched like a half-wild animal. The tailored clothes that Lizzy had worn for the wedding had been replaced by her habitual torn shorts and shirt, and her hair was once again wild, frizzy and free.

She stared up at Fern, half defiant and half scared stiff and Fern’s heart went out to her crazy friend.

‘Oh, Lizzy, you dope,’ she said softly. She stooped forward into the cabin and took Lizzy’s hands in hers, drawing the girl close to her.

The half-trace of defiance died. Lizzy deflated like a pricked balloon and burst into tears on Fern’s breast

It was a while before Fern got any sense out of her. Even when she could finally talk, her words were muffled by incoherent sobs.

‘Oh, Fern, I’m sorry…I made them all sick and it was only because Sam…I thought…I thought it would serve him right-for taking off and leaving me-and he was going to marry me, Fern, and I love the toad and you shouldn’t be marrying him because it’s me…it’s me…He asked me!’

‘He asked you to marry him when he was twelve and you were eleven,’ Fern said firmly. ‘Lizzy, childhood promises don’t count and you know it’

‘Well, they count with me!’

Fern shook her head. She gripped Lizzy’s hand hard. ‘Lizzy, you know I wouldn’t marry Sam if I thought he wanted you.’

‘You don’t know Sam.’

‘No.’ Fern sighed. ‘Maybe I don’t. Not completely. But neither do you, Lizzy. All I know is that Sam and I want the same thing. We want security and we want to be away from the island. And you’ll never leave the island, Liz-not even for Sam.’

‘I’d be scared to…’

‘Well, there you are.’ Fern rose, knowing that she was in the best position right now for getting the truth-while she had drawn an admission from Lizzy. ‘Liz, what did you do to the oysters to make people sick?’

‘Oh…’ Lizzy hiccuped on a sob and gave a halfshamed grin. ‘You guessed it was the oysters?’

‘It’d be hard not to,’ Fern said with asperity. ‘For heaven’s sake, Lizzy, you didn’t salt them with anything poisonous?’

Lizzy shook her head. ‘Of course not That’d be stupid. I knew bad oysters make you vomit about four hours after you eat them, and I wanted to be sure what damage I did.’

‘So?’

Lizzy shrugged. ‘So I collected the oysters yesterday and left them out in the sun for a few hours. Then I stuck them in the fridge to make them freezing and get rid of most of the stink. They still smelled a bit off, though, so I added the garlic and bacon. I knew oysters like that wouldn’t be bad enough to make anyone desperately sick-I’ve eaten enough crook oysters in my time to know what the effects are.’

‘So you thought you’d just make people vomit and that would be that.’

‘And Sam wouldn’t get his pretty little wedding and his pretty little bride.’ Lizzy sniffed defiantly. ‘It’s not fair, Fern. Why are you marrying him? You know you don’t love him.’

‘Sam’s my friend, Lizzy,’ Fern said gently. ‘We both live in the city and we’re lonely. It makes sense.’ She sighed. ‘And your silly behaviour isn’t going to alter that. It’s just made a lot of people unhappy-and put people at risk for nothing.’

‘I didn’t put anyone at risk,’ Lizzy said sulkily.

‘No?’ Fern sighed. ‘Aunt Maud was so sick and so upset that she’s had a massive heart attack. We only just managed to resuscitate her and I don’t know what permanent damage might have been done. Frank Reid went home alone with his diabetes and his upset stomach. When I found him his blood sugar was climbing sky-high. I hope there’s no long-term damage there but I can’t guarantee it.

‘I have to go now, Lizzy. Quinn Gallagher and I have our work cut out to try and reverse the damage you’ve caused. I just hope there’s no one we’ve missed.’

Lizzy stared up at Fern, her face a mask of horror. ‘Dear God, Fern…’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean…You must know I didn’t mean…’

‘I know you didn’t mean any long-term damage,’ Fern said wearily. ‘But maybe you didn’t think things through as much as you should have. You were angry at Sam and me-but you’ve hardly hurt us. It’s Aunt Maud you’ve hurt most of all-and she’s always been your friend.’

She left soon after.

Fern drove to Quinn Gallagher’s hospital with a heavy heart, the sun setting over the island in a huge ball of crimson fire as she did so. Someone should stay with Lizzy, she thought drearily, but she knew that Lizzy would have no one-and Fern herself was too angry to spend more time with her. Besides, Fern was needed elsewhere.

She collected Frank Reid on the way.

Frank settled comfortably in the back seat of the wedding limousine, looking out of place among the ribbons and bridal netting with which Aunt Maud had so proudly decorated the car. The old man was plainly exhausted and Fern kept an anxious eye on him in the rear-view mirror as she drove.

Bother Lizzy.

She glanced down at her watch.

Seven p.m.

The wedding reception should be drawing to a close right now and she and Sam should be boarding a plane to head back to the city. Back to their life away from this island.

She wasn’t going through this again, she thought grimly. Not even for her aunt and uncle. She and Sam would have a quiet registry office wedding back in Sydney.

Quinn Gallagher had purchased the biggest house on the island. The place had been built by a movie star as a romantic escape from the eyes of the media. The movie star’s escape from the limelight had been all too effective, however, and his bankruptcy had left the vast house on the headland at the north of the island uninhabited and useless.

‘The house is a white elephant,’ the locals had jeered, boggling at the corridors of guest rooms, ballroom, swimming pool and acres of manicured gardens.

White elephant or not, it was the perfect place for a clinic, Fern thought, as she steered her white limousine in through the gates five minutes after collecting Frank. Quinn Gallagher must have money behind him to be able to afford this place.

‘Barega Medical Clinic’, the sign on the gate said, lit from underneath by concealed fluorescent lighting, and for an instant Fern felt a fleeting jab of envy. It would be wonderful to be a doctor here…

Not here…Don’t be stupid, Fern…

The lights were blazing from the verandah and as the car pulled to a halt Quinn strode from the main entrance to meet them. His dinner suit had been discarded in favour of casual trousers with a clinical white coat thrown on over an open-necked shirt.

The change had done nothing to remove the impression of arrant masculinity about the man.

Oblivious of Fern’s reaction, Quinn strode swiftly over and pulled open the back door.

‘Did you find the woman?’ he flung at Fern as he bent over Frank.

‘Lizzy? Y-yes.’ What was it about the man that had Fern flustered every time she laid eyes on him?

‘And?’

‘The oysters must have been left in the sun too long,’ Fern said a trifle unsteadily, aware that if she told the truth Lizzy could be up on a criminal charge.

‘I see.’ Quinn flashed her a fast, assessing glance and Fern knew that he really did see. ‘Then I can assume we should have no major problems.’

‘I expect not.’

Quinn nodded but his attention was already shifting fully back to Frank.

‘How are you, mate?’ he said gently, noting Frank’s tight, pinched face. Quinn reached out to feel Frank’s pulse. ‘I reckon we’ll get a stretcher to bring you in to bed, eh?’

‘I can walk,’ Frank mumbled, but Quinn shook his head.

‘Why walk when you can ride?’ Quinn grinned at the ribbons on the car. ‘Though we might forgo a bit of the bridal splendour from here on.’ He motioned to the verandah and Fern saw a waiting trolley at the head of the stairs.

How would they get that up to the entrance…?

Then, to her amazement, Fern saw a wide, sloping ramp had been installed beside the granite steps. Chrome handrails bordered both steps and ramp.

No expense had been spared here.

Fern’s impressions of expensive renovation deepened the further she went into the clinic. Fern had been in this house once for a lavish party thrown on the movie star’s arrival to the island. Then the house had screamed glitz and glamour. Now it spoke of welcoming comfort, backed by clinical cleanliness and state-of-the-act technology.

How could Barega support such a place?

As she and Quinn wheeled Frank’s trolley along the main corridor Fern inwardly boggled. This place was worth a fortune and the medical renovations were worth almost as much again.

The room that Quinn steered Frank’s trolley into was set up as a two-bed ward, though it was large enough to take six beds if the need arose. It was vast, with huge French windows looking out over the verandah beyond.

It was a great place to be ill in, Fern thought, knowing that once the sun rose in the morning the patients could see the garden and the distant ocean beyond those windows. This was a far cry from the wards at Fern’s teaching hospital in Sydney.

The other bed was already taken.

‘Fern!’

Fern’s eyes flew to the bed’s occupant with shock.

Sam…

‘Sam, are you OK?’ she asked swiftly, concerned. There must be something worse than a gastric upset happening to Sam if Quinn had admitted him.

‘Fern, where the hell have you been?’ her fiancé croaked from his mound of pillows. ‘I’ve been ringing your uncle’s house…everywhere…Finally I had to get Mum and Dad to drive me here!’

Fern gazed down at her intended husband. His normally florid countenance had recovered some of its colour and his bright purple pyjamas increased the impression that he wasn’t dangerously ill. Then Fern’s gaze moved to Quinn.

Why on earth had Sam been admitted?

‘Mr Hubert has vomited three times,’ Quinn Gallagher said solemnly, guessing her question. His expressive lips twitched only slightly as he spoke. Laughter, it seemed, was being firmly suppressed. ‘Mr Hubert feels there’s a very real danger he’ll become dehydrated and, after being so ill, the only safe place for him is in hospital.’

‘But you’re no sicker than anyone else who ate the oysters, Sam,’ Fern stammered, and then wished she hadn’t as Sam’s face tightened in anger.

‘How on earth would you know that, Fern?’ he snapped. ‘You didn’t even check. You just went dashing off and you left me…You left me…’ The big man’s voice rose on an incredulous note of disbelief. It seemed that such treachery could hardly be believed.

Fern winced. She knew that Sam was one who called a cold the flu and the flu pneumonia but as he was normally an exceedingly robust individual she hadn’t been called on for too much sympathy in the past.

Maybe, seeing that he was unused to illness, Sam was justified in being frightened.

She crossed swiftly to his bed and bent to kiss him on the brow. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ she said gently. ‘But Maud was ill.’

‘She was hardly as ill as me!’

‘Maud had a heart attack, Sam.’ Fern was fighting hard to stay calm.

‘A heart attack!’

‘Yes.’

That silenced Sam for only a second. Then he raised himself on his elbow.

‘Your aunt’s old, though, Fern,’ he said savagely. ‘And your uncle was with her. Surely your place is with your husband.’

Count to ten. Count to ten, Fern…

Behind her, Fern was aware of Quinn Gallagher watching with malicious enjoyment.

‘You’re not my husband yet, Sam,’ Fern finally managed. She took a deep breath. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Dr Gallagher and I need to attend to Mr Reid.’

‘But I’m going to be sick again,’ Sam hissed.

Fern sucked in her breath, fury mounting. How could she possibly have given in to this man’s pressure to marry her? Of all the insensitive oafs…

She looked down at the bedside table and picked up the shiny aluminium kidney dish.

‘Fine,’ she snarled. ‘Have a basin, Sam. Just do what you have to do and leave us alone.’

He wasn’t sick again.

Sam lay back on his pillows and watched with sullen resentment as Fern and Quinn worked on Frank.

‘I’d like your assistance, if you don’t mind,’ Quinn told her. ‘Both my nurses are suffering from the effects of your oysters.’

She would have helped without being made to feel guilty, Fern thought grimly, as she assisted Quinn to move Frank from trolley to bed. While Quinn set up a drip to replace the fluids the old man had lost, Fern gave him a gentle bed bath and helped him change into hospital pyjamas.

It took time to make the frail old man comfortable and by the look on Sam’s face it seemed that he was almost jealous. Fern felt herself growing angrier and angrier, especially as Quinn Gallagher made it clear that he was enjoying the whole situation.

‘I’ll take these blood samples down to the lab,’ Quinn told her finally as he filled a small vial with Frank’s blood. ‘Are you right to finish here?’

‘I’m right,’ Fern said through gritted teeth. She managed a smile down at Frank. ‘As long as you’re happy having me treating you rather than Dr Gallagher?’

‘You can treat me any time you choose, Fern Rycroft,’ the old man smiled back. ‘Eh, you’re a right ministering angel and that’s the truth. One in a million.’ He cast a malicious look across at Sam. ‘And you and Doc Gallagher work a treat together. A real pair you make-unlike some…’

It didn’t help Fern’s anger-or Quinn Gallagher’s irritating sense of humour. Quinn choked on laughter and left, chortling, and Sam choked on fury.

Finally, Frank was settled. Fern checked the drip flow rate, bade Frank a concerned goodnight and Sam a rigid one and walked out to find Dr Gallagher waiting in the corridor.

‘What, a ten-second goodbye to your love?’ Quinn quizzed her as she closed the door behind her. ‘I’d expected a half-hour of passion, at the very least. Don’t you realise you can pull the curtains round the bed? Once Mr Reid’s asleep it could be almost a honeymoon suite in there.’

Quinn was leaning against the wall of the corridor, stethoscope swinging idly from those long, surgeon’s fingers. He was watching the diminutive, red-haired Fern with malicious amusement.

Surgeon’s fingers…Fern didn’t know he was a surgeon. Why had she thought that?

It was just the man’s supreme air of confidence, Fern thought angrily. Confidence? Arrogance. Either way it was something that she usually saw only in doctors who were supremely skilled in their work-and both they and their colleagues knew it.

‘Why did you admit Sam?’ she demanded angrily. ‘You know he doesn’t need to be in hospital.’

‘I thought you’d like to have him well looked after,’ Quinn said blandly and watched her face. He was waiting for a reaction and she knew it.

‘And if someone really ill needs the bed?’

‘Then I guess it’s up to Mr Hubert’s future wife to toss him out into the snow.’ Quinn grinned. ‘Meanwhile he’s argued himself in here with all the aplomb of the legal mind. He’s quite a lawyer, your intended. I get the feeling your Sam could convince a jury black’s white while gargling chilli sauce-or maybe even seventy fathoms under water without air tanks. He’s quite a little persuader, your Sam.’

‘What…what did he say?’ Fern said uneasily.

‘Only that if I didn’t admit him and he happened to die in the night he’d hold me personally responsible. When I pointed out if he died maybe he wouldn’t be in a position to hold anyone responsible, he appointed you surrogate to sue me for the shirt off my back and see my medical degrees torn into little pieces and thrown-preferably with me attached-off the Arnablower Rocks.’

‘He didn’t really say that?’ Fern stared up at Quinn and, despite her anger, she felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

‘He did,’ Quinn assured her. ‘And any man who can tell me all that while still clutching a kidney bowl and occasionally retching, deserves to be admitted-or at least deserves to pay the exorbitant charges I’ll no doubt put to his account. Now-would you like to see your aunt, Dr Rycroft?’

Her aunt…

Fern’s anger faded. ‘Yes…Oh, yes, please.’

This man had saved her aunt’s life. No matter what else he’d done…

She managed a smile at this strange, unknown doctor. ‘Dr Gallagher, I really am very sorry…and very grateful…’

‘There’s no need for that.’ Like Fern’s anger, Quinn’s laughter seemed also to have gone. He stared down at the green-eyed girl before him for a long, long moment and the magnetism Fern had felt in church flooded back in force.

Quinn’s eyes widened-as though he felt the force as strongly as Fern but he wasn’t sure whether it was a force for good or evil. A force to be reckoned with-somehow.

‘I would have done the same for anyone’s fiancé,’ he said slowly, his eyes still holding hers. ‘If he had a law degree and a threatening manner…’

‘I mean…I mean what you’ve done for my aunt.’

The smile slowly returned, still wary.

‘Well, I would have especially done the same for your aunt,’ he said softly. ‘I’m just grateful we were able to get her back. Your aunt and uncle are two very special people, Dr Rycroft.’

‘I…I know.’

‘So why don’t you visit them?’

‘I do.’ Fern’s voice tightened at the old accusations. ‘I’m here now.’

‘But it’s been twelve months since you were here last. You’re all they’ve got, Dr Rycroft. The whole island tells me how wonderful you are but you’re intent on putting as much distance between you and the island as possible.’

‘That’s my business, Dr Gallagher. Not yours.’

‘But your aunt’s health is my concern,’ Quinn said harshly. He dug his hands deep into his pockets and turned to stride down the corridor, leaving Fern to follow as best she might. He kept talking, assuming that she’d scuttle along behind and to her fury Fern found herself doing just that. Scuttling.

‘My aunt’s health…’

‘Is suffering because she’s missing you.’

‘I can’t come home just because…’ Fern walked after the white-coated doctor but his strides were so long that she was forced to a run.

‘Just because people need you?’ Quinn shrugged. ‘Of course you can’t. How stupid of me to suggest such a crazy idea. Now let’s see how Maud’s been getting on without you-again.’

Maud was asleep. Her tiny body seemed immensely vulnerable on the large hospital bed. Fern’s aunt was robed in a hospital gown and Fern made a silent vow to go straight home and bring back a pretty nightie. One of her own honeymoon nighties, she decided. In the hospital gown her aunt looked fragile-almost…

Almost dead.

Not the Aunt Maud Fern knew and loved. She couldn’t die. Not Maud, too…

How could she have stayed away for so long? she thought harshly. She should have come back before this.

And by marrying Sam…By marrying Sam she’d exposed her aunt to Lizzy’s vindictiveness and this dreadful hurt.

There was a pale-faced slip of a girl sitting on a chair beside Aunt Maud-maybe a little younger than Fern, painfully thin with soft, mousy brown hair and brown eyes that were too large for her face. A nurse, Fern thought, but the girl was dressed casually in clean jeans and T-shirt. She rose as Quinn ushered Fern in and smiled at them both.

‘She’s fine,’ the girl said quickly, noting the anxiety in Fern’s eyes. ‘Her obs are steady and she seems to be sleeping soundly.’

‘Thanks, Jess.’ Quinn motioned to Fern. ‘Jess, this is Maud’s niece, the island’s wonderful Dr Fern Rycroft we’ve heard so much about. Fern, this is Jessie. Jess is the island vet but I called her in to help with my humans tonight. She hauls me out of bed often enough to help with her four-legged patients.’

Fern stared. ‘I didn’t know the island had a vet.’

Like human medicine, animal medicine was underserviced to the point of non-existence on the island.

‘I’ve been here for six months.’ Jessie smiled shyly. ‘It was a pleasure helping tonight. Your aunt’s a lovely lady, Fern. Do you want me to stay, Quinn?’

‘I think we’ll be right now, thanks, Jess. I’ll connect the monitors through to the office and I’ll do hourly obs.’

‘Fine.’ The vet crossed to the door. ‘Then, if you’ll excuse me…I have three babies to feed.’

Three babies…Fern shook her head in bewilderment but Jess was already gone.

The island medical service had changed indeed since Fern had last been here. With a qualified vet and doctor it was almost overserviced.

Well, at least the island no longer needed her.

Funny how that thought was starting to give her no pleasure at all.

‘Your uncle’s gone home to sleep,’ Quinn was saying softly. He was watching Fern over the bed dividing them. ‘You can, too, if you like. I’ll take good care of her, Dr Rycroft.’

Fern swallowed. She was sure that he would. If any man could do it, Quinn Gallagher was the man to keep her aunt alive.

She looked down at the bed again and her heart lurched. Sure, Quinn Gallagher would connect the monitors through to his office and check every so often but…

But if her aunt was in a city hospital she’d be in Intensive Care with a nurse awake and watchful at every moment.

After all Maud had done for her; it was the least Fern could do.

‘I’ll go home and see my uncle and come back,’ she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘The spare bed here is empty. If it’s OK with you…’

He didn’t try to dissuade her.

‘That’s fine. But I’ll keep the monitors going just the same. If you sleep…’

‘I won’t sleep,’ Fern said rigidly. ‘After the events of today, even if my aunt was fine, I still wouldn’t sleep.’

She was right there.

It took Fern less than half an hour to drive home, reassure her worried uncle and be back at Quinn Gallagher’s transformed mansion-cum-hospital. Quinn greeted her briefly when she returned but in the next ward Frank Reid had started vomiting again and he had his hands full.

He didn’t need her.

‘Frank’s blood sugars are settling,’ he told her. ‘Once I can stop the retching he should be OK. I’ve given him another dose of metoclopramide and it should take effect soon. If you watch your aunt so I don’t have to check the monitors…’

It had been the right thing to do to return, Fern thought thankfully, as she pushed the room’s second bed close to her aunt’s and crept under the covers. It was a warm enough night but the events of the day were taking their toll. She felt shivery and in need of the comfort of the blankets.

She didn’t undress. It seemed wrong to don nightclothes when she wasn’t ill-or even very tired. She was just shaken and she was here to work.

Fern put her hand out from the bedclothes and placed her fingers round her aunt’s wrist. This was better than any monitor Quinn Gallagher could devise-and she was a darned sight closer if Maud’s breathing faltered.

She was so close…

In her long years of training Fern had never felt so close to a patient.

Even with her aunt and uncle, Fern strove for distance. There was no distance here-not now.

Just soul-destroying grief if this heartbeat didn’t continue. Maud had to live…

The long hours of the night dragged on.

She should be sleepy, Fern thought, but she wasn’t anything of the kind. Her mind was whirling in a million different directions.

Muffled through the heavy walls she could hear intermittent sounds from the men’s ward. She heard Frank moan once or twice and grimaced. Let the metoclopramide work, she breathed silently. If Lizzy’s stunt caused permanent damage…

Fern was starting to feel horribly responsible herself. By agreeing to marry on the island she’d stirred up a hornet’s nest. Frank had to be OK.

Then she heard Sam’s voice raised in protest and Fern’s grimace deepened. If Sam was making a fuss…

Maybe she should go to him…

Sam had no priority at all.

Fern’s fingers tightened on Maud’s wrist. Maud’s pulse was strong and steady but it didn’t make Fern one bit more willing to go to Sam. Her place was here. If Quinn Gallagher was taken up with Frank then he couldn’t watch the monitors and Maud had to be monitored by machine or in person.

So Fern lay still, realising that she needed this time alone almost as much as Maud needed her. The darkened hospital was close to silent and the turmoil of the day seemed a bad dream.

The only thing of importance was the beat under Fern’s fingers-the steady throb of her aunt’s heart.

The monitors were linked to her aunt’s breast and they led to another room. Quinn’s office…Fern knew he’d still be checking from time to time. A conscientious doctor wouldn’t believe Fern’s assurance that she’d stay awake.

And Quinn was a conscientious doctor.

The thought was a vague but solid comfort. Maud was safe. With Fern beside her and Quinn in the next room nothing could happen.

Nothing could happen with Quinn Gallagher there.

That was crazy. What a stupid thing to think when she had known the man less than a day. What was it about the man that was so solid…so powerful…?

It was her emotional state, Fern told herself firmly. Nothing more. She’d been emotionally wrought for days in the build-up to the wedding, asking herself over and over whether she was doing the right thing. And, then, as she’d made the decision and the final preparations and made it almost to the altar-to have this happen…

Drat Lizzy, she thought miserably, but in her heart Fern knew her real emotion was one of relief.

‘So, maybe it was the wrong decision,’ she whispered into the dark, and winced again at the sound of Sam’s angry voice from the next room. Her beloved…

He was nothing of the sort!

There were footsteps down the corridor and another voice, softer but firm for all that. Quinn’s voice…

Then the footsteps returned, but not as far as they’d come. The steps stopped outside Fern’s door. The door opened a crack and then wider, allowing a slit of light to fall over Maud’s bed.

Quinn stepped silently into the room. Unlike the corridor where the floor was of polished wooden boards, the wards were carpeted-so Quinn’s feet made no sound. His body blocked the slit of light but as he came further into the room the slit widened and Fern could watch him as he approached.

He checked Maud with deft precision. Fern nodded silently to herself. This man didn’t leave anything to chance-or to the monitors. He felt Maud’s pulse and took her blood pressure, then checked each monitor lead. Then, almost as an afterthought, Quinn turned the pencil light torch he’d been holding to shine down at Fern.

‘I’m not asleep,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not completely untrustworthy.’

He smiled, then, his smile almost tender in the soft light of the torch.

‘I never thought you were, Dr Rycroft,’ he said gently. ‘But your aunt is my patient. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I’d love one,’ Fern smiled. She pushed back the bedcovers and Quinn’s eyes widened as he saw her blouse and jeans.

‘What, no nightie, Dr Rycroft? Dressed for escape, then, are we?’

‘If you like.’ Fern’s voice tightened.

‘I wouldn’t worry about indecent advances by the night staff.’ Quinn smiled. ‘Your beloved’s only a scream away. In fact, I would have thought you’d know that. Has he been keeping you awake?’

‘He’s not my beloved,’ Fern said crossly. ‘I…Is he all right?’

‘No.’ Quinn shook his head. ‘He’s not all right. Mr Reid has been ill again and rude enough to disturb Mr Hubert’s sleep. Mr Hubert seems to think he’d like a private room-or at least have Mr Reid shifted out into the corridor. Very tetchy he’s been when I’ve suggested he take himself off to his own bed if he didn’t like it here.’

‘He’s…he’s upset,’ Fern said miserably. ‘Sam’s not always so unreasonable.’

‘I’d assumed that,’ Quinn nodded. ‘If he’s half as bad as I think he is then you’ve been granted a last-minute reprieve from death by boredom. Still, I have to assume you know what you’re doing, Dr Rycroft.’

‘Good.’ Fern gritted her teeth. ‘Look, forget the cup of tea…’ This wasn’t a big hospital with kitchen staff on call.

‘It’s already made,’ he smiled. ‘If you’re as awake as I think you are, come out on the verandah and drink it.’

‘But…’ Fern looked doubtfully down at her sleeping aunt.

‘Maud’s growing stronger by the minute,’ Quinn assured her. ‘You must be able to feel it yourself.’ He flicked a switch above the bed and a soft, dim light shone across Maud’s face. It wasn’t enough to disturb Maud’s deep sleep but it showed them both her improving colour. ‘Now, through those French windows is the verandah and it’s a lovely night. I’ll bring tea round there and we’ll leave the windows open and be able to watch Maud while we drink it.’

‘But…won’t we disturb S…Mr Reid?’

‘You mean, won’t your Sam hear us and demand to know what the heck’s going on?’ Quinn’s teeth flashed with laughter as he shook his head. ‘Their window’s round the corner and your Sam insisted it be closed because he’s allergic to draughts or some such nonsense. Which leaves us alone. An assignation with an engaged woman in the wee small hours…What could be better? What a pity I didn’t put the champagne on ice…’

‘But…’

‘No more buts.’ Quinn Gallagher put a finger on her lips and pressed her mouth firmly closed. ‘Meet me in five minutes below the window,’ he grinned. ‘Should I bring my ladder-or will you let down your hair?’

Despite herself, Fern heard herself give a low chuckle in response. This man was ridiculous.

This man was dangerous.

The thought flashed through her mind with the clarity of white light. It almost made her gasp.

‘No. I…’

It was too late. Quinn was already striding toward the door, his back turned to her.

‘Five minutes,’ he said over his shoulder as he reached the door. Five minutes to your date with doom…

This was ridiculous.

Fern pushed back the bedclothes completely and checked Maud once again. Her check was unnecessary. Quinn’s examination two minutes before had been thorough enough.

She didn’t want to sit on the verandah and drink tea with this unknown doctor. Why on earth should she?

Because she badly wanted a drink and she also wanted to stretch her legs. It made sense.

So?

‘So have a cup of tea with the man,’ she muttered angrily to herself. ‘It hardly means anything.’

If it hardly meant anything, why were her knees like jelly?

There was no need for her knees to shake.

The tea on the verandah was innocent in the extreme. Fern and Quinn sat in comfortable cane chairs, a wicker table between them, and sipped tea as if it was midafternoon and Fern was paying a social call

It was ridiculous.

It was also a great way to break the tension.

Over her teacup Fern caught Quinn’s eye and her mouth twitched into laughter.

His eyes laughed right back.

‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a cucumber sandwich,’ he grinned. ‘The maid’s off duty.’

‘It’s a lack,’ Fern said sadly, ‘but I can make do.’

‘I thought of wearing a frilly apron and starched cap myself.’ Quinn’s mournful tone exactly matched hers. ‘But try as I might I can’t convince myself that frills become me. I make a much better butler. If you’d like to go round to the front door and ring the bell I’ll show you my true butling style. Mind, at three in the morning I’ll probably ask icily for your calling card and see you off the premises.’

Fern choked.

There was silence again but this time the silence was comfortable. Something was fitting round Fern like a lovely, comforting cloak.

Something that she’d never felt before…

She finished her tea slowly, glancing back into Maud’s room every few moments as she sipped. Finally, reluctantly, she finished her cup, placing it back on the wicker table, and rose.

Strangely she was loath to move. This night was her wedding night-and she was on the verandah of another man’s house feeling that here was someone who…

Stop it, Fern! Stop it!

What was her errant mind thinking? She was crazy!

‘Thank you…Thank you for the tea,’ she said stiffly. ‘I should go back in…’

And then she stopped as something wet and cold touched her ankle.

Fern stepped back in surprise and looked down.

She was wearing sandals and her ankles were exposed. Nuzzling the bare skin above her feet was a tiny wallaby, only half-grown.

‘For heaven’s sake…’

Fern knelt down. The tiny creature showed not the least fear. He transferred his nose to Fern’s hand and nuzzled these strange new smells with equal interest.

‘Where did you come from?’ Fern asked with delight. She looked up at Quinn. ‘Is he a pet?’

‘No.’ Quinn was smiling down at her, the warmth in his eyes directed at Fern rather than the wallaby. He leaned over and scooped up the little creature. ‘This is one of Jessie’s babies and he’s getting very bold in his old age.’

‘Old age!’

‘He’s been here four months. He’s practically a grown-up now.’

Quinn walked over to the edge of the verandah. Hanging from the rail was a wide woollen pouch which looked very like a sweater with the neck and arms sewn up. It was looped over the verandah rail at such a position that the tiny wallaby could jump in or out whenever he chose.

Quinn tucked the little creature inside. The joey squirmed in a wriggling mass of heaving sweater and gangly limbs-and then his eyes peeped out once again.

‘It’s too early to sleep,’ his eyes seemed to be saying. ‘If you two are chatting, why can’t I?’

Quinn grinned and with two fingers gently pushed the damp little nose down. Like a jack in the box, the nose sprang straight back up.

‘He’s starting to guess he’s a nocturnal animal,’ Quinn smiled. ‘Someone brought him to Jess after they hit his mum with a car. She’s been hand-feeding him-but she’s started putting him out here at night so he can get used to a bit of night grazing.’

‘Jess…’ Fern frowned. ‘Jess lives here?’

‘Sure.’ Quinn gestured to the huge house behind them. ‘This place is enormous. Jess has taken over the east wing for her animals, and the west wing’s for humans. It works well-apart from the odd escape. Even then, the sight of a baby wallaby or an echidna waddling down the corridors only seems to keep my patients stirred.’

‘I don’t know what the Health Commission would say about that,’ Fern said doubtfully, and Quinn grinned again.

‘The Health Commission, bless their bureaucratic little hearts, are far, far away and, anyway, if they closed Jess’s and my operations down now they’d have a war on their hands. Barega would declare itself a republic and design its own flag on the spot. Jess and I are providing a better medical service to the island than it’s had in years.’

‘I guess…’

Words died away.

The night was warm around them. The huge, golden moon was a glittering jewel hanging low over the ocean, its soft light casting a tunnel of gold across the distant waves.

It was almost as if it was a path, waiting to be trod.

This was a magic night. Her wedding night…

Fern gave herself a mental shake. The feeling of warmth creeping over her had nothing to do with the fact that it was her wedding night. She looked up at Quinn and found him watching her, the wide, generous mouth twisting into a smile that was half-questioning.

‘What is it, Fern?’ he asked gently, and to her horror she felt the pinprick of tears behind her eyes.

It was just that she was tired. It had to be.

Fern turned deliberately away to look in at Maud. Maud stirred in her sleep and sighed, then settled back into slumber. Maud didn’t need her, thank heaven, but Fern wanted to return to her aunt, for all that. She felt as if there was something inside her that was close to breaking and she didn’t know what.

‘I’ll…I’ll get back to bed,’ she whispered.

‘You can go to sleep safely now,’ Quinn told her. ‘I’ll watch the monitors but I’m sure she’ll be fine.’

‘But when will you sleep?’

‘I sleep on my feet,’ he grinned. ‘I’m trained as an emergency medicine specialist and until last year ran Casualty at St Martin’s in Maybroe. Part of the training is coping with sleep deprivation. If I saw eight hours sleep in a row I wouldn’t know what to do with it.’

‘But…’ Fern stared. ‘St Martin’s…If you were in charge there…’

If Quinn was in charge of Casualty at St Martin’s then he had to be good. St Martin’s was one of the biggest emergency hospitals in Australia, coping not only with local trauma but also the complex trauma from almost everywhere else. A man breaking his spine in the Simpson Desert would probably be transported to St Martin’s, and the hospital had a neo-natal team that brought desperately ill babies from all over Australia.

‘So what on earth are you doing here?’ Fern whispered.

‘R and R,’ Quinn smiled. ‘Change of pace.’

Change of pace! From racing with the best to a comparative crawl! Quinn’s income would be a tenth here of the income he was accustomed to-and with his skills…

‘But…your skills are wasted here,’ Fern managed.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s in the eye of the beholder and if I’m the beholder I don’t think I am. Someone else stepped into my shoes with enthusiasm as soon as I left St Martin’s. Here, though…Well, even the locally raised doctor refuses to come home to look after her own people on Barega.’

‘That’s unfair,’ Fern whispered. ‘I can’t…’

‘Can’t come home?’

‘No.’

There was a groan from around the corner of the verandah. Silence as if the groaner was waiting for a reaction and then another groan. Louder.

Sam…

Quinn grimaced and motioned to Fern to stay where she was while he went to investigate.

‘I should go…’ she whispered.

‘No.’ Quinn ran his hair through his brown-gold hair in a gesture of exasperation. ‘If you go then your beloved Sam will likely as not berate you-going on past performance-and I don’t want raised voices in Frank’s room.’

‘F-fine.’

Quinn smiled as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. He placed a hand firmly on her shoulder

and pressed her back into her chair-and then left.

Fern was alone.

She should make her escape while she could. Fern should walk right back into Maud’s ward and close the door behind her.

Fern did no such thing. She couldn’t. The night was drifting into something resembling a dream. It had little to do with reality. The moonlight shone on her face and held her in thrall while she waited for Quinn to return.

She didn’t have long to wait.

Quinn was back in two minutes, hands dug deep in his pockets and the laughter lines gone from his eyes.

‘What…what was wrong?’ Fern asked.

‘Your beloved has a sore stomach.’ Quinn grimaced. ‘He wants drugs to remove the pain and he grew very hostile when I told him he risked making himself ill again if he had painkillers. My assurance that half the island must have stomach-ache tonight-and they weren’t writhing round in hospital beds demanding drugs-went down like a lead balloon.’

‘I…I can imagine it would,’ Fern said faintly.

‘What the hell do you see in him?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me,’ Quinn said harshly. ‘The man’s nothing but a self-opinionated, hypochondriacal bore, and you’re planning to marry him?’ His voice rose on a note of incredulity.

‘That’s my business.’

‘Oh, sure,’ he mocked. ‘But I’m asking anyway and if you don’t tell me I’ll ask louder and louder until that boyfriend of yours yells out that we’re disturbing his beauty sleep.’

‘That’s unfair.’

‘You’re right.’ Quinn’s infectious grin flashed out once again. ‘But life’s like that, Dr Rycroft. Most unfair. Now, are you going to tell me or is my voice going higher…?’

‘I love Sam…’

‘Nonsense.’

‘I do,’ Fern said hotly. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re on about, but marriage isn’t…shouldn’t be like it is in the movies. Real love isn’t like that. I mean, if you fall romantically in love with someone how can you tell who you’re ending up with? Sam and I have known each other since we were teenagers. We have the same backgrounds. The same ideals. And when we’re in the city we can talk about the island and remember…’

‘You mean you’re marrying the man because you’re homesick?’ Quinn’s mobile brows were disappearing into his hair.

‘No. Yes…Look, this is ridiculous,’ Fern said desperately. ‘You have no right to interfere…’

‘I have a right to stop a tragedy,’ Quinn said grimly. He reached out and took her hands in his, not gently. ‘Good grief, woman, you could do better than that noise-box. Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?’

‘No!’ Fern’s voice was a barrier of pain. She tugged her hands back but they were held in a grip of iron. ‘Look, I don’t know what on earth you’re doing…’

‘Well, that makes two of us.’ Quinn stared down at her in the golden moonlight and there was a trace of confusion in the grimness around her eyes. ‘But I know that there’s love and laughter right near the surface behind that practical, sensible mind of yours, Dr Rycroft. And I know one day you’ll wake up with that boring little creep in the next ward and think “what have I done?”‘

‘Why should I?’

‘Because he’s as passionless as a frog,’ Quinn threw back at her, and then that irrepressible laughter surfaced again. He chuckled. ‘Mind, there might be some pretty passionate frogs out there, for all I know. If there are, then your Sam doesn’t compete.’

‘Look, will you let me go?’

‘Do you know how passionate your intended is?’ Quinn asked. ‘You didn’t dash to his rescue at first groan. You hardly gave yourself time to kiss him goodnight-and I wouldn’t mind betting all he gave you was a peck on the cheek.’

‘There’s more to life than passion,’ Fern retorted.

‘“There’s more to life than…”‘ Quinn’s repetition of her words died away to silence.

There was a long, long silence.

Quinn didn’t release the pressure on Fern’s hands for a moment. He stood looking down at her in the moonlight and the expression in his eyes was one of baffled anger.

‘If I was your man…’ he said at last.

‘Well, you’re not.’

The touch of Quinn’s hands on hers was doing strange things to her. Fern pulled back again but his hold only tightened.

‘I’m starting to think you don’t even know what passion is…’ Quinn was almost talking to himself. ‘“There’s more to life than passion,”‘ he repeated.

‘Good grief, woman…’

‘There is!’

‘There might be,’ Quinn agreed, ‘but it sure as heaven helps life along. If you can find someone who makes you feel…’

‘Feel what?’ Fern was past lowering her voice now. She was just plain angry and this man holding her was making her feel torn in two. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Quinn’s deep eyes darkened. For one more moment he stood looking down at her in the warm night air and then he swore softly to himself.

‘I dare say I’ll regret this in the morning,’ he muttered savagely. ‘But it’s time to show-not tell!’

And he pulled her to him in one swift, effortless movement. His mouth lowered to hers and in the next instant Fern was being ruthlessly kissed.

She should have struggled.

Of course she should have struggled. She didn’t want this man to kiss her. She didn’t…

Fern could never tell afterwards if she lifted her face at the critical moment. She could never tell if she had expected-wanted-what happened as Quinn’s mouth met hers.

All she knew was that some weird feeling was sweeping through her-something connected with the warmth of this man’s strong hands and the feel of his mouth brushing her lips.

Brushing?

The kiss was a gentle brush for only a moment-a feather kiss of a question while she stood still and mute and unable to draw away.

Unable or unwilling?

Who could say? Certainly not Fern Rycroft.

It was like surgical cases Fern had read of where only one anaesthetic took hold during an operation-the anaesthetic that paralysed the body and yet kept every sense still tingling with awareness. Able to feel every pinprick of pain.

Yet this wasn’t pain. The lightness of the kiss had faded. Something deeper was happening here. Something she didn’t understand and had no control over.

Quinn’s hands had released her fingers and were now around her waist, circling her slender body and pulling her in against his hard, muscled thighs. His lips had stopped their gentle searching. They had moved from gentleness to straight plunder in one savage instant.

And she was responding.

Dear heaven, she could feel herself responding. Fern felt her lips open for him to deepen the kiss, compelled by a force that was stronger than anything she had felt before.

He was so…

So…

So male!

The word drifted through her overwhelmed senses as the only way she could describe him. What was drawing her to him seemed something she had no control over-Eve to Adam…Woman to Man-a primeval, aching need that had nothing to do with sense or responsibility or future security…

No!

From somewhere-somewhere so far back in the recesses of her mind that it was almost lost, Fern found the last vestige of common sense reasserting itself.

She shoved her hands against Quinn Gallagher’s chest and shoved as hard as she could.

She was released and she knew, as his lips left hers and she staggered back from him, that the only thing her traitorous body felt was regret.

‘What…what the heck do you think you’re doing?’ Her breath was coming in panting gasps.

‘Not me…’ he said and, like Fern, Quinn’s voice was shaken to the depths.

He made no move to follow her. Quinn Gallagher stood looking down at Fern in the filtered moonlight and his dark eyes were enigmatic and fathoms deep. ‘We, Fern Rycroft,’ he corrected her gently. ‘I believe we were engaged in a spot of passion. Something you don’t believe in.’

‘No!’ It was a cry from the heart. Fern put her hands to her lips as if she could wipe away his touch. ‘I didn’t…’

‘Didn’t want it?’ Quinn’s mouth quirked. ‘Liar.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Can your Sam make you feel like that?’ Quinn shook his head. He stepped forward and his hand came out to touch her face lightly.

Fern flinched and backed still further.

‘I’m going…I’m going back in to Aunt Maud,’ she whispered.

Quinn nodded. ‘I think that’s wise,’ he told her gently. ‘Run to your aunt. But, Fern…’

‘Y-yes?’

‘Surely an almost married lady should run to her intended? Unless…unless her intended was never that in the first place.’