The Doctor Claims His Bride (12 page)

She stifled a gasp. She couldn’t imagine a mother ever inferring that their child wasn’t one of the greatest joys of their life. And do it to a thirteen-year-old who would be battling his own hormonal demons. ‘She must have been depressed.’

He pulled the truck to a stop under a large pandanus palm. ‘Perhaps. At thirteen I didn’t have the clinical skills to make an accurate diagnosis.’ The sharp tone in his voice revealed his hurt. ‘At thirty I had the skills and I know Brooke wasn’t depressed. She left of her own free will, just like my mother, with no note and no
warning. There’s something about the Harrington men that makes women leave.’

She couldn’t believe he’d said that. ‘That’s utter nonsense.’ Her words rushed out fervently. ‘You had a go at me about fate and yet here you are taking two unrelated incidents and trying to connect them. A woman who loves you stays with you. Brooke didn’t love you.’

Hazel eyes sparked with antagonism. ‘And my mother?’

His words hit her hard and fast like a cricket ball in a head-high full toss. She didn’t have an easy answer to his question but viscerally she knew that his interpretation was very wrong.

She opened her mouth to speak but Flynn had opened his door and was moving out of the truck, running as if he was competing in the one hundred-metre sprint.

Had he left to stop the conversation? She wasn’t certain but then she saw a flash of movement and realised he was chasing something. She grabbed her camera and started to jog after him, giving thanks for the fifth time that day that she was wearing sturdy hiking boots, as this was snake country.

He suddenly stopped, his hands on his thighs, his chest heaving. He caught his breath and grinned at her. ‘Bandicoot. Man, they can move fast.’

‘I couldn’t even see it! Surely there are slower-moving things for dinner.’ She glanced around, still feeling like an alien on another planet.

He straightened up, running the back of his hand across his brow. ‘You have to tune into your senses, Mia.
I think you’ve forgotten how to do that. Sticky notes don’t work out here.’

She caught a fleeting look of disapproval but let the comment pass. ‘So eyes, ears and nose.’

He nodded. ‘That’s right. Let’s look around here for starters.’ He pointed to his left. ‘See that gumtree with the bright orange flowers? Those flowers mean that it’s time to start burning the land. When they burn it sends the wildlife scurrying so that’s good hunting. Then six weeks later, when the new shoots start, the wildlife comes back to feed on the succulents.’

She started to follow his line of thinking. ‘And there’s no protective vegetation so they’re easy to spot so easier to hunt.’

His eyes flashed approvingly. ‘Excellent deduction, Ms Latham.’ He draped his arm casually around her shoulder. ‘See, you really don’t need to write everything down. You have an incisive mind, you just need to trust it.’

She looked into eyes filled with support and good intentions and her heart turned over.

Trust won’t help stop a genetically predetermined deterioration
. She pushed the thought aside. Today she refused to think about her future or more realistically her lack of a future. And she wasn’t thinking about the past either. Today she was living for the moment out in the Kirra bush with the most fascinating man she’d ever met. ‘What’s that spindly-looking sapling with the lone yellow flower?’

‘Kapok.’

‘Really, as in the white fluffy stuff that used to be in pillows?’

‘That’s right. This tree tells a big story, too. When the kapok flowers it means the crocodiles and turtles are laying their eggs, and the kangaroos are plump and healthy and make good tucker.’

Mia shuddered at the thought of crocodiles. ‘As I couldn’t ever throw a javelin, I doubt kangaroo will be on the menu.’

Flynn laughed. ‘On Kirra hunting is still a really important part of community life but they’re not averse to using a rifle when it suits them.’

His arm still lingered on her shoulder as he turned and gently steered her toward the truck. ‘But if we’re going to be traditional, as the man I do the hunting and you do the gathering.’

She raised her brows. ‘Is that so?’

The flirting glint was back. ‘Absolutely, and I’ve got a special place in mind.’

She stopped and in mock indignation she folded her arms across her chest, enjoying their banter. ‘Had I known I would have brought my bark basket with me.’

‘Not to worry. I have a plastic bucket in the back of the truck.’ He quickly ran and grabbed the vivid yellow bucket.

She shook her head in amazement at the lurid colour. ‘Obviously we don’t need to be camouflaged. I bet you could probably see that bucket on a satellite picture.’

Dimples appeared in his cheeks. ‘Crocodiles like a bright colour.’

Fear gushed through her, draining the blood from her face. Snakes she could handle but the thought of the prehistoric creatures that could move with such deathly speed terrified her.

‘Hey.’ His fingers suddenly brushed her chin, tilting it upward. He spoke softly. ‘I’m joking. I’d never put you into danger.’

She gazed into eyes dark with remorse, dusky with care and light with something else she couldn’t quite pin down.

He had so much care to give. He deserved to find a woman who would stay with him and love him.

Caught in his penetrating gaze it was almost all she could do to nod her understanding but she somehow managed to find her voice. ‘Sorry. I know you wouldn’t put us in peril—it’s just that I have this thing about crocodiles.’

‘Most of us do.’ He dropped his fingers from her chin, caught her hand in his and together they started walking.

‘Kirra has salt-water crocodiles in the ocean and strolls along the water’s edge are out. But there are no crocodiles in this area and when I got permission from the traditional owners to bring you out here, I checked again.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re most welcome.’

His smile sent quivering trails of delight through her and she squeezed his hand in appreciation, loving the feel of his palm against hers.

The bush got thicker and he dropped her hand, needing both arms to bush-bash and hold up branches so she could duck under them. She followed behind, admiring his athleticism and the way his shorts moved across what she imagined was a taut behind.

‘Ooh-h.’ Her foot suddenly sank up to her ankles into blue-grey mud and she swung her head around, taking in her environs. She’d been so busy being gloriously
distracted by Flynn that she hadn’t noticed the change in vegetation. Low spindly trees with bright green leaves and exposed roots surrounded her.

‘Mangroves.’ She lifted her foot up with a sucking squelch and tried to stand on a large root. ‘We’re gathering food in mangroves?’ She couldn’t hide her disbelief.

His eyes twinkled. ‘Nature’s nursery. Come on, there’s some fabulous food here.’ He strode off, oblivious to the mud, a man on a mission.

She gingerly took another step, which sent mud flicking onto her calves before her feet immediately disappeared into more mud. She stepped carefully again but still mud splattered her legs.

It’s only mud. Live for the moment—you don’t know how long you’ve got
.

Flynn, now twenty metres ahead, turned and gave her a wave and a smile. A smile with a magnetic force field that encircled her, pulling her toward him.

She plunged her feet into the mud and waded, closing the distance between them.

He squatted down. ‘This is what you’re looking for as you walk.’ He ran his finger along criss-crossing trails in the mud before digging down under the roots of the mangrove. A moment later he triumphantly held aloft a large black shell.

‘What is it?’ She peered at the long spiral shell.

‘A whelk. It’s a sea snail. We cook them in the coals and they taste brilliant.’ He tossed it into the bucket and then quickly harvested a dozen.

‘Now it’s your turn.’

She stared at the mud, trying not to think about what
could be hidden in it, and plunged her hand into the soggy depths. As the mud squished between her fingers she couldn’t help herself and a girly squeal escaped from her lips. She quickly pulled her hand back, the sudden action making her overbalance, and sat down hard in the mud.

Flynn’s mirth rang out loud and clear.

Resignation and amusement spun through her as the water seeped through her cargo pants. ‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’

His body shook with laughter. ‘Probably more than I should.’ He pulled his digital camera out of his pocket. ‘Smile.’

She tilted her head, gave a pout and with a muddy hand flicked back her hair as if she were a model on a shoot.

The camera trembled in Flynn’s hands before he steadied it and she heard the electronic sound of the shutter.

The moment he slid the camera back into his pocket she hurled a handful of mud at him, catching him on the shoulder.

‘Hey!’ For a second his face wore a stunned expression and then he grinned.

A grin of fun, a grin of pleasure. A grin of pure intent.

At that precise moment she realised she hadn’t thought this through and she was a sitting duck for a retaliatory attack.

As his hand scooped up a large glop of mud, she hauled herself up, with one hand on a mangrove and the other filled with sludgy ammunition.

A chuckle wafted on the hot air and then mud caught her between the shoulder blades, the water dribbling
down her back, cool in the midday heat. She threw wildly as she tried to gain her balance.

‘You missed by a mile. I’m over here.’

Foolishly she turned, the action leaving her wide open and completely unprotected.

Mud splattered her neck and chest, sticking her T-shirt to her skin. ‘You’ve done it now. I’m showing no mercy.’ She flung her arm back and arced it forward, black goop flying through the air and hitting his arm.

‘Right! That’s it. When I catch you, you’re going to be dunked in mud.’

Joy and delight surged through her as she ducked and darted through the mangroves, hurling mud and laughing more than she could ever remember.

Flynn had the aim of a marksman and rarely missed. She, on the other hand, was being outplayed and outmanoeuvred.

She recognised the ribbon Flynn had tied on the tree when they’d first arrived in the mangroves and she took a sharp left, seeking retreat, running back to firmer ground and away from the mud.

She heard the crack and snap of vegetation and knew Flynn had followed her. Panting with exertion and doubled up with laughter, she held up her hands in surrender when he appeared in the clearing by the truck. ‘I give up. You’re too good.’

Dimples shone like stars in his cheeks. ‘I am, aren’t I?’ He stood in front of her, tall, dark and deliciously mud splattered, holding the ridiculously bright yellow bucket. His eyes danced with devilment. ‘Just remember that next time you start a mud fight with the master.’

Laughing, she shook her head at him before giving a mock bow. ‘So, wise one, is there anywhere I can wash this stinking mud off me?’ She pulled at her wet and filthy clothes.

His eyes darkened and his gaze seemed fixed on her shirt. ‘I know the perfect place.’ He swung the bucket into the back of the truck. ‘Hop in.’

Mia pulled a couple of old towels out of her bag and spread them out to protect the seats, before unlacing her boots and pulling her feet from their soggy confines.

Flynn turned the key and the truck lurched forward over the rough ground. ‘You’ll love this place.’ He turned and winked. ‘There’s no mud.’

‘I’m liking it already.’ She leaned back and as she lifted a drink bottle to her lips she gave in to an overwhelming need and sneaked sideways glances at Flynn. How could one man make her feel so alive in a way she’d never known before?

She dragged her gaze away and looked out the window. ‘The vegetation’s just got thicker.’

Flynn nodded approvingly, like a teacher with a student who was finally making progress. ‘See, you’re learning already. The thicker vegetation means water is close by.’

He stopped the vehicle and opened the door. ‘It’s only a short walk through that grove of paperbarks.’

Mia picked up the towels and clambered out of the vehicle, her wet pants sticking to her. Jamming her hat on her head, she didn’t care what she looked like, she just wanted to immerse herself in cool, fresh water.

Flynn rounded the back of the truck, holding his battered hat in his left hand. His gaze lazily flicked from her head to her toes, spending time on the journey down.

Heat unfurled from deep within her, rolling out in waves.

He grabbed her hand. ‘Prepare yourself for a treat.’

Is it you?
The errant thought took hold as he led the way though the eucalypts.

She caught the glint of sunlight on water through the clumps of palms and lush vegetation and suddenly she was standing on the edge of a waterhole, fed by a rushing stream of fresh, sparkling water so clear that she could see tiny fish. Delicate ferns grew out of the mossy banks, the vivid green in stark contrast to the burnt brown and orange that characterised the land a mere two hundred metres away.

‘Apart from the palms, I could be back in Tassie. I love it.’

Flynn beamed. ‘I knew you would.’ He dropped her hand and reached up, untangling a large rope, which hung from a sturdy gumtree. He pulled it forward, his grip firm, the muscles in his arms taut with definition. With an almighty yell he jumped out over the water and cannonballed into its depths.

Mia threw her head back in laughter as water sprayed all over her and mud ran in rivulets down her legs.

He reappeared a few seconds later, flicking water from his hair, his T-shirt hiding nothing as it moulded itself to his broad chest. ‘It’s magnificent.’

You’re magnificent
. She leaned over and caught the rope. ‘Look out, I’m coming in.’ She wrapped her hands
round the coarse, damp rope and swung herself out over the water.

A feeling of freedom rushed through her as she sailed through the air, and when she let go of the rope she screamed, not from fear but because she could. Her toes hit the water, the chill racing up her legs, and then she was submerged in a blaze of refreshing bubbles.