Ridiculous.

‘How long did you know the father of your puppies?’ she asked Phoebe, and Phoebe looked soulfully up at her and then looked again at her supper dish.

‘Right. Think of practicalities. Men are no use at all, unless you want kids, right?’

Phoebe nudged her supper dish again.

‘Right.’

She should ring Edward.

Why on earth?

‘To ground myself. To remind myself that this is a tiny part of my life and as soon as Harry McKay gets himself married I’m out of here.

‘You could leave now.

‘What, and leave him like this?’ It was a ridiculous conversation, and Phoebe wasn’t the least bit interested. She’d figured that Lizzie’s attention wasn’t where it should be and was gazing at her dish now as if it was the last bastion of hope for the entire canine race. Hopelessness personified. Starvation was just around the corner. The end of the world was nigh.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’

Lizzie gave herself a shaky laugh, hugged her dog again and rose to her feet.

‘The vet said no. You’ve had enough tonight. You’ve had more than enough.’

Phoebe looked up at her, her great ears almost lifting with effort. Hope, her eyes said. Death had been looming but now the kitchen cupboard was opening. A sliver of light was appearing in the darkness of desperation.

And Lizzie couldn’t help herself. She smiled. ‘OK. Half a cup. No more. I’ll buy your love with half a cup of dog food and then I’ll forget love altogether.’

Phoebe looked at her as if she was out of her mind.

‘Until suppertime tomorrow,’ Lizzie corrected herself. ‘Fine. I have the devotion of a dog and I’d better look after it. Because that’s all I’m going to get.’

Memo:

I will not scratch my leg. Scratching is an entirely inappropriate response to stimuli of damaged nerve endings.

I will not think of Lizzie. Of the way her fingers felt. Of the way her lips brushed mine.

I will not scratch my leg.

I’ll just rub my fingers really gently…

I will not think about Lizzie.

I will not… I will not…

I will forget about inappropriate responses. What a man’s got to do, a man’s got to do.

And a man has to scratch!

CHAPTER SIX

HARRY was still sleeping when Lizzie was ready for the day.

Lizzie ate her breakfast at dawn, gave Phoebe a snack, showered and readied herself for work-she’d dressed Corporate this morning, in the neat little suit she’d been wearing when she’d crashed into Harry-and then opened his bedroom door.

He was out for the count.

He’d been awake during the night. She looked at the bedside table where she’d left a glass of water and four painkillers. Two of the tablets were missing.

Good. He might have played a hero in front of her, but he had enough sense not to suffer unnecessarily.

His body needed sleep.

He looked good asleep, she thought, her eyes softening as they rested on him. He’d thrown back his covers-the room was heated and the back-slab and bandages would be hot. He was bare-chested, his hair was tousled from sleep and his face on the pillows looked unlined and younger than his thirty-odd years.

He’d had a bad time, she thought ruefully. To lose a fiancée…

Actually, maybe he’d lost two fiancées. Where was Emily?

What was the line? To lose one husband is careless. To lose two is just plain ridiculous.

She smiled but the laughter didn’t reach her eyes. There was so much about this man that she didn’t understand.

Or maybe she did. He was being sensible. He’d had one crack at being the big city specialist, and it had been a disaster. It had hurt everyone around him. So for now he wouldn’t follow his heart. He’d follow his head.

He’d marry Emily despite her six bridesmaids.

What a waste.

She should leave him to sleep. She had no business staring at him. Any minute he’d wake and question her motives, and she hadn’t the faintest clue what her motives were.

She’d just stand there for one moment longer.

Memo:

I will not open my eyes.

I am asleep.

Maybe I’ll open my eyes and think of something clever to say. Something flippant.

I will not open my eyes.

Being a country doctor was really strange. The medicine Lizzie was accustomed to was trauma in a big city hospital. Here she was, at Birrini Elementary School-practising medicine?

There was no trauma in sight-but there was definitely need. The needs of Amy-the little girl who’d been so badly bullied-and Lillian’s needs. Lillian, whose self-confidence had to be built at all costs.

‘So tell me again what you want me to do?’ Lillian was asking, and Lizzie had to collect her breath for a moment and think about it. What was she doing here?

Lizzie and Lillian-and Phoebe-were backstage at the junior school hall. Out the front were fifty-odd pupils, all lined up and waiting for the results of Lizzie’s art competition. Somewhere among them was Amy, a little girl who’d had to nerve herself to come to school this morning. A little girl whose home life was almost as awful as school.

And Lizzie’s idea to use Lillian to help fix it… Would it work? Lillian was shaking like a leaf.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, Lizzie thought, but, then, it had been partly Lillian’s own plan, put forward with such tentative anxiety that to knock it back would have been unthinkable. And it had just seemed to fit so well. Two pieces of a puzzle coming together. Or two damaged kids helping to heal each other.

‘You’re the best artist in Birrini,’ she told Lillian stoutly, pushing away any qualms that she might yet have a disaster on her hands. ‘You won the state competition last year and May tells me that every kid in town was so jealous they could spit.’

‘They’re never jealous of me.’

‘You know they are,’ Lizzie told her, fleetingly touching the girl’s face. ‘Or course they are. You’re beautiful, you’re clever and you’re talented.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You have a father who tells you you’re not,’ Lizzie said bluntly. ‘That’s because he can’t see what’s so obvious to everyone else. You have a brother and a sister who are academically brilliant. One’s doing medicine and one’s doing law. That’s their thing. Your thing’s art.’

‘Art’s useless.’ The burgeoning confidence of the girl back in the hospital had all but disappeared. To appear in public…Her terror was palpable.

Lizzie sighed. Should she let Lillian off the hook? Do the presenting herself?

No. It’d reinforce all the negatives that Lillian had instilled in herself. They had originally been a product of her father’s belittling, but they were now self-feeding.

‘Are you going to tell Amy that art’s useless?’ she demanded. ‘You know what’s happening to her. We’ve agreed-and it was partly your idea-that winning here will be a chance for her to break this horrid cycle of self-doubt. The same self-doubt you’re coping with. I thought you agreed you’d do this for me.’

‘I did.’

‘You can do this, Lillian. You know you can.’

‘I want to be sick.’

‘If you’re sick now, then Amy keeps on being bullied. Is that what you want?’

‘N-no.’

‘Then let’s do it.’ Lizzie stooped and hugged Phoebe, her grin belying how sick she felt herself. Would this work? Please…


Harry found May taking obs and waylaid her. He was feeling so disoriented it was crazy. He’d stayed in bed for as long as he could bear it but this was ridiculous. This was his hospital. His patients. What was Lizzie doing taking over as if she belonged?

‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’ May turned from her patient and smiled. She knew darned well who he was talking about.

‘Lizzie.’ He corrected himself and gave a rueful smile to old Mavis Scotter in the bed. ‘I mean Dr Darling.’

‘She’s taken Phoebe and Lillian down to the school.’

‘Phoebe and Lillian?’

‘Yep. Girl and dog. Both of them.’

It was nine in the morning. May had only had eight hours off duty and she was, in reality, too weary to be working.

One of the town’s bank of semi-retired nurses would take her shift if she asked. Maybe she should-but, heck, she was enjoying herself here.

There were, in fact, other reasons May needed to work. Reasons May didn’t want to think about.

But meanwhile… Dr McKay had hobbled into the ward looking angry. Which was really interesting. There was no need for the man to be angry, she thought, but anger was definitely there.

May was more and more interested. And so was old Mavis. As would half the town if they could see the expression on Harry’s face.

‘Phoebe and Lillian,’ she agreed, and watched his face change. Nurse and patient grew even more interested.

‘Why?’

‘It’s the announcement of the winner of the art prize.’

‘Amy’s art prize.’

‘We don’t know that, Dr McKay. Anyone could win.’ May pursed her lips and tried to look prim-and failed.

‘You’re telling me it’s not rigged?’

‘The most deserving child will win, and that’s all I’m saying.’

‘So Lillian’s watching Lizzie present a rigged prize.’

‘Lillian’s presenting the prize.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope.’ She gazed at him ‘Aren’t you still supposed to be in a wheelchair, Dr McKay?’

‘I not only shouldn’t be in a wheelchair,’ he said grimly, ‘I shouldn’t be here. Call Jim. I want him to drive me down to the school. Lillian’s going to present the prize? We could really use this. If she’d told me… If I have time… Quick, May, ring Jim now.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’ And she smiled to herself as she made her way to the nurses’ station. Very interesting indeed…