Bachelor Cure (9 page)

But somehow he found her. Tess was right in the middle of a huddle of teenagers. And what she was wearing… It was just plain extraordinary.

Or maybe it wasn't plain at all. Tess wore bright purple leggings, a brilliant yellow jacket and a purple cap with a yellow pompom. Oh, and purple Doc Martens on her feet for good measure.

He blinked. The colours of the teams on the ground were red and black stripes and black and white stripes respectively so, in this sea of red and black and white, Tess stood out like a sore thumb.

She was sublimely oblivious. Tessa was perched on the bonnet of Alf Sarret's FJ Holden. Alf was a nineteen-year-old car fanatic who polished his car twice a day and wouldn't let anyone look sideways at it much less sit on it, but Tessa was definitely sitting on it and she was talking and laughing as if she was nineteen years old and had known these kids all her life.

She saw him from ten yards away and a brilliant purple arm shot upwards in a wave.

‘Mike. Come over here. Isn't this the craziest game? The kids have been teaching me the rules—or rather trying to teach me the rules. I think you need to be a third-generation Australian to understand them. Why aren't you wearing team colours? And who are we barracking for?'

‘Who are we…?'

‘The kids say I need to choose, and I need to choose now,' she said. ‘Apparently I can't stay in this town without swearing allegiance to a Bellanor football club. The only trouble is—do I swear allegiance to Bellanor South Football Club or Bellanor North Football Club?' She looked around at her crowd of bemused teenagers. ‘The camp here appears to be evenly divided,' she said. ‘And I know Grandpa hates football. So I figure…if you and I intend to be partners then I'd better barrack for who you barrack for.' She grinned. ‘The kids say otherwise we'll fight.'

If you and I intend to be partners…

He thought fleetingly of what he'd always imagined a partner might be. He'd thought of a sober, conscientious middle-aged doctor with whom he could share the load. Not this…this…this pompommed purple and yellow apparition!

‘Jancourt,' he said faintly. It was all he could think of to say, and the word was met by a howl of derision from the teenagers.

‘Yeah?' Tessa wasn't put off by the teenagers' reaction. Her eyes rested on Mike's face and she twinkled down at him. She dug her hands deep into the
pockets of her extraordinary yellow jacket and nodded. ‘OK. If you say so, Mike, then I'll barrack for Jancourt. Tell me about our team.'

‘But Jancourt's hopeless,' Alf interrupted. He had nobly allowed Tess to sit on his car and was now acting as if he was in charge of her. ‘Don't do it, Doc. Jancourt's the lousiest team. They lose every week.'

‘Jancourt's more a name than a place,' Mike agreed. ‘It's all they can do to scratch eighteen men. In fact, sometimes they play with up to half a dozen men short, and their back line has an average age of about sixty.'

‘It sounds just my sort of team,' Tessa said with aplomb, and Mike grinned.

‘It is,' he told her. ‘If you barrack for North or South Bellanor, then every Monday morning you'll be looked at by half the population as if it's all your fault that they're feeling ill. If you barrack for Jancourt…well, every Monday morning all you'll get is sympathy.'

‘Very wise.' Tess seemed perfectly satisfied with the logic. ‘And what are our colours?'

‘Sorry, Tessa. Not purple and yellow.'

‘Rats. These are the colours of my very favourite football team at home. The Vikings.'

‘They're a bit loud,' Mike said faintly, and Tessa's smile widened.

‘Loud! You want loud? The true Vikings uniform has a hat with horns! Or I could be a fan of the Green Bay Packers. My mom follows the Green Bay Packers
and she gets to wear cheese on her head. This is sedate in comparison.'

‘Cheese?' Tess had the whole bunch of teenagers riveted to their conversation, and Tessa was revelling in it.

‘I kid you not.' She chuckled. ‘I swear. Green Bay Packer fans wear vast slabs of cheese on their heads—don't ask me why. The Vikings are a sensible, sane football team that a sensible, sane girl like me can follow with pride. I'll follow them to the death—I'll even wear horns—but when football clubs expect their fans to wear cheeses and a girl's mother says she's being undutiful by changing to the Vikings, well, it's enough to make a girl migrate all the way to Australia.'

‘I expect it is,' Mike managed faintly.

‘So what are the Jancourt team colours?' she demanded.

‘Cream and brown.'

‘Ugh.' Tessa's pert nose wrinkled in distaste. Then she shrugged. ‘Never mind. I love purple and yellow, but I can't have everything.' Her smile returned in full and Mike could only stare.

Tess looked totally, perfectly happy. She looked as if she'd lived here all her life, and as if there was nothing more she could ask of life than to sit in a cold wind on a teenage boy's ancient jalopy and cheer a football game where she didn't even understand the rules.

She'd fit into this valley as if she'd been born here, Mike thought, wondering. In one half of one football game, Tess had managed to woo and win the town's
teenage population. The group Tess was in made up the most popular kids in town and there were more teenagers sidling up to the edges of the group every minute. By tomorrow, the word would be around town that there was a new lady doctor in town and she was great!

‘Oh, hell…'

There was a sudden howl from the crowd. A tackle had brought one of the forwards down, and the injured player was clutching his knee in agony out on the field.

Mike sighed and dragged his attention from Tess. ‘Well, there goes my quiet time,' he said with resignation. ‘I'll leave you to your friends, Dr Westcott.'

‘Hey, I'm coming too.' She slid off the car and tucked her arm into his. ‘I'm your partner, OK?' Her smile widened. ‘I've always dreamed of running onto the field as team doctor. It's one of my career goals. Like at the movies when they interrupt with, “Is there a doctor in the house?”.' They did it all the time before I graduated, but never since.'

‘Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not running onto any ground,' he told her firmly, watching as the trainers raced over to the injured player with a stretcher at the ready.

‘I'll only go if they yell that he's stopped breathing. Even then I'll wait until he turns blue. The players here have a nasty habit of getting on with the game, regardless. The only thing they ever stop for is Strop and that's because he eats the ball. It took me months to teach him the pie tent was a better place to hang out than the centre of the playing field.'

‘You're kidding.' Tessa's face creased in laughter. ‘It's not a good doctor image—to have a ball-eating dog.'

‘No,' Mike said darkly. ‘If I had my time again…'

‘You'd have him put down?'

‘Well…'

Tess chuckled and tucked her arm tighter in his. ‘Yeah, I know. Tough he-man Dr Llewellyn—with the squishy edges. So we're not running out on the ground?'

‘Last time I went onto the ground I got hit in the face with the ball.' Mike was incredibly aware of her proprietary arm. It made him feel as if every nerve in his body were alight—but, then, it'd seem churlish to haul it away. ‘The player only had a bruised knee, but I copped a bloody nose and a black eye,' he managed. ‘They had to help me off!'

‘It's not a good professional look.' Tessa chuckled. She walked easily beside him, her arm still tucked in his. ‘So where do we do our doctoring?' she asked.

‘The red tent. The player who's coming off is wearing red for Bellanor North.'

‘Oh. Right. I'll remember that.'

She would, too, he thought. Tessa's quick, intelligent mind was busy tucking in item after item of what she'd term useful information. You wouldn't need to tell her anything twice.

‘I don't think you're supposed to come into the training tent,' he said faintly. ‘The rules are rigid. Women aren't allowed.'

‘Oh, pooh,' she said blithely. ‘I'm not a woman here, Dr Llewellyn. I'm a doctor.' And she glanced
up at him sideways and twinkled. ‘Do you reckon that's something you can remember? It seems to me that it's really important.'

And what the hell was he to make of that?

 

Jason Keeling was clutching his leg in agony. By the time they reached him, the trainers had deposited him on the bench and were looking down helplessly. Jason wasn't letting them near his leg. He was curled almost into a foetal position, hanging onto his leg for dear life and swearing as if his life depended on it.

‘OK, Jason, let's have a look,' Mike said, bending over him and trying to see.

Jason didn't look up. He was whimpering in pain and the swearing didn't ease one bit.

‘Hey, I don't know half those words.'

It was Tess. Of course it was Tess. She stood back from Jason and regarded him with frank admiration, and Jason was so stunned to hear a woman in the training room that momentarily he forgot to swear. He looked up from his leg and uncurled a bit.

‘Who the hell are you?' he demanded.

‘I'm one half of the Bellanor medical team,' she said blithely. ‘The better half. Show us your leg, Jason.'

And Jason was so flabbergasted that his hands fell away from his leg. Mike was in there before he could put them back, holding his leg and gently easing it to an extended position.

‘Fancy this happening just as you were winning,' Tess said sympathetically. She perched on the end of the bench and put a sympathetic hand on his cheek.
Mike could only bless her. For all Jason Keeling was six feet six inches of pure beef, he was a real wimp when it came to pain. Now, though, Tess had his full attention and Mike could run his hands carefully over the injured limb.

He couldn't feel a break…

‘What do you mean—one half of the Bellanor medical team?' Jason demanded. The team trainers were staring at Tess as if she'd just flown in from Mars, and so was Jason. Mike might just as well not have been present.

‘I'm a doctor.' She chuckled as she glanced around at the men's astounded expressions. ‘Believe it or not, that's what I am. Mike said I might have to prove my qualifications or you'll throw me out of the training tent.'

‘You can stay in any training tent you want, miss,' one of the trainers breathed. ‘And I'll personally chuck out anyone who says different.'

‘That's really nice of you.' Tessa's eyes danced as she twisted to look down at the injured leg. Still her hand rested on Jason's face. She was sitting so close to him that her crazy yellow jacket was brushing his body, and Jason was clearly completely thrown by the sensation. ‘What's the damage, Dr Llewellyn?' she asked. ‘Do you think we need to amputate? Do I get to hold him down while you chop it off?'

‘I reckon we might manage without amputation.' Mike grinned in return. To examine Jason when he was in pain was usually a nightmare, but she had Jason absolutely silenced. Now she shifted from the bench to support Jason's leg as Mike carefully ran his
hands from the knee down. He watched Jason's face as he did, but Jason didn't utter a whimper. ‘What happened, Jason?'

‘I was running,' Jason muttered. ‘I just felt something…like a bang. Like something snapped.' Jason's eyes were still on Tessa, fascinated.

Mike nodded, moving to feel above the ankle. His suspicions were being confirmed here. There was a definite notching.

‘Can you move your ankle, Jason? Will your toes lift?'

Jason stared wildly from Tessa to Mike, trying to collect his wits. It was as if he was having trouble remembering he had a leg at all. Tessa's pompoms and her gorgeous red hair had him in thrall. Finally he shook his head. ‘Nah…' Then his face creased again as he remembered his wimpishness and he remembered his pain.

‘I reckon we might get some morphine on board,' Mike told him hastily. ‘That'll ease the pain.'

‘But what's wrong? What's wrong?'

‘I think you've torn your Achilles tendon. It's hard to say whether it's a complete tear or not without a fuller examination, but that's what it feels like.'

‘Aw, hell…'

‘Hey, it beats a compound fracture,' Tessa told him. Mike was settling the leg back on the bench. Tessa turned to touch Jason lightly again on the face, and Jason stared up at her in stupefaction. ‘It's not much better, I guess,' she said sympathetically, ‘but a little.'

‘But it'll mean I miss the rest of the season,' Jason
wailed. ‘I'll have to stay on the sidelines and watch…'

‘Like me,' Tessa said cheerfully. ‘I know nothing about this game. Back home in the States, I love football. Here, though, it sure looks different. I need someone who knows it inside out to teach me what's happening. You look like just the man—that is, if you don't mind me barracking for Jancourt.'

‘Jancourt…' Jason lay back on the bench and stared up at her in stupefaction. ‘Jancourt. Why the hell are you barracking for Jancourt?'

‘Dr Llewellyn said I should,' Tessa said blithely. ‘And he's my boss now. It's always wise to do what your boss says—don't you think?'

‘Yeah. Right.' Jason couldn't think of a single thing more to say.

And neither could Mike.

 

There was only one more medical case for the afternoon—a bruised hamstring muscle that could be left safely in the hands of the trainers—so they got to watch most of the game. Jason was sent to the hospital. He'd need to be checked later and the leg properly X-rayed and examined, but before that the nurses could clean away the worst of the mud and his family could fuss and generally settle him down. There wasn't much more to be done in the short term.