Elizabeth Duke - The Husband Dilemma

She thought fleetingly of her mother, his caring, compassionate suburban GP wife, who’d suffered the most over the years from his remoteness and emotional neglect. Even though they’d been living apart at the time Charlotte had died, her mother had immediately rushed to her husband’s side, offering comfort and warmth. Edith Warren-Smith had never stopped loving him, despite his emotional neglect, despite the hurt he’d caused her, despite leaving him for eighteen months, taking her younger daughter with her.

Kate wondered if she would have been as forgiving.

‘What field are you specialising in?’ she asked curiously, suddenly feeling the need to know. Orthopaedic surgery, perhaps? He looked the type. Fit, strong, sporty. A jogger and a tennis player. It meant he must have some sort of life outside medicine.

Her skin prickled as an uneasy memory stirred. He was from Sydney, he’d said...and he was training in America. Training to become a specialist. A specialist surgeon? Although she knew that must apply to dozens of Australian doctors, a sudden, frightening suspicion flickered...only to die—mercifully—the moment he answered.

‘I’m doing neurosurgery.’

She blinked. He was training to be a brain surgeon? Her momentary relief that he wasn’t doing cardiac surgery, like her father, turned to dismay. A neurosurgeon was up there with heart surgeons! Maybe even beyond. Dammit, why couldn’t he have been a plain, simple, ordinary GP like her mother? Like she wanted to be herself?

‘You won’t hold it against me, I hope?’ Now he was laughing at her. Plainly amused at the shocked look on her face.

She let her eyelashes flutter down, giving a careless laugh of her own. ‘Of course not...don’t be silly.’ Her breast heaved in a quick sigh. Just her luck that the man of her dreams had turned out to be a high-powered specialist surgeon like her father! ‘Look...I’ve wasted enough of your time,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll be all right, truly. I’ll just stay here a while longer. My friend will be here soon. You—you go. And thank you for—’

‘You’re coming with me.’ His tone was as implacable as the set of his jaw. ‘Come on.’ He reached out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it. ‘You can stay out on the lawn, in full view of the other houses. Think you’re capable of walking yet? Or do you want me to carry you?’

‘I can manage,’ she said hastily, giving in far more readily than she would have expected only seconds ago. Her parents, if they only knew, would think she’d gone stark raving mad, agreeing to go off with a perfect stranger. Even if he was training to be a brain surgeon!

If he was. Some men would say anything to impress a girl they’d set their sights on. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. In her case, he couldn’t have chosen a worse ploy!

She rose gingerly, testing her legs. They felt more normal now. She pulled her shirt more securely round her shoulders, shook out her towel and thrust it into her beach-bag.

‘What’s this?’ He bent down and picked up her sketchbook.

‘I’ll take it!’ She almost snatched it from him. If he saw she’d been sketching him... ‘It’s just a—just a pad I scribble in.’

‘Scribble? You’re a writer as well as a medical student? ’

She gave a shaky laugh, wishing he wasn’t showing such an interest in it. ‘I’m not a writer...I just draw a bit—for fun. For myself,’ she added quickly, making it plain that her scribbles were for her own eyes only. She tucked the sketchbook firmly under her arm, slung her beach-bag over her shoulder, and looked up at him expectantly.

‘Which is the quickest way?’ She was anxious to get going, now that the decision had been made. She wanted to put something cold on her swollen eye, and to keep it there long enough for it to have some effect before she sallied off to face Diana. Or the police.

She had no idea how long the ice would take to work its magic. But the prospect of spending some more time in her husky rescuer’s company—neurosurgeon or not—was distinctly appealing, sending excited ripples down her spine.

‘Let’s go up the way you came down. It’ll be easier,’ he said. Easier for her he meant. The slope was gentler there. Nothing, she thought, sliding a surreptitious glance down the length of his impressive frame, would be too difficult for him. A few strides of those great legs would take him anywhere...up any hill...over any obstacle.

He hovered protectively behind her as she made her way across the soft sand, staying close at her heels as she began to climb the sandy slope to the low sandhills behind.

‘Am I going to be allowed to know your name?’ he asked in his deep warm voice.

She chewed her lip. If she told him her name was Kate Warren-Smith, he’d be bound to ask if she was related to Chester Warren-Smith, the famous heart surgeon. As an Australian, and an ambitious surgeon himself, he must have heard of him. He might even have heard about the Warren-Smiths’ brilliant surgeon daughter, who’d died tragically of an overdose. Kate didn’t want to face disturbing questions about Charlotte. Even his sympathy would put a dampener on the day.

‘First names will do.’ He still sounded amused. As if, she thought peevishly, she were a cautious little ingénue in his eyes, who’d been told never to talk to strangers, let alone divulge her name or address. She gritted her teeth. So much for appearing older than her years!

Still...first names sounded safe enough. And at least it would be better than having him call her ‘love’ or ‘honey’.

‘My name’s Kate,’ she tossed over her shoulder, giving him the name she favoured over her full name Catherine. Or Cathy, as Charlotte had called her...even though she’d told her sister repeatedly that she preferred Kate.

‘Kate...mmm.’ His voice drifted musingly after her. ‘It suits you. Far more than Miranda.’

‘Miranda?’ She turned with faint frown. ‘Did you think—?’

‘Aren’t mermaids usually called Miranda?’

‘Oh.’ She laughed. And after a second’s hesitation asked, ‘What’s yours?’ wondering if she really wanted to know. Any man with the looks and amazing physique—to say nothing of the brilliant future—that this man possessed was bound to have a steady girlfriend already...if not a wife. Though surely if he had a wife she’d be here with him. Maybe she was here...sheltering from the heat inside his beach-house. Her spirits took a nosedive at the thought.

‘Call me Jack,’ he invited from behind.

She half turned, trying to hide a faint yearning in her eyes. Even if he was unattached, it didn’t mean he wanted a fling with her, or was even attracted to her. He was probably just being kind...taking pity on her because she’d come close to drowning. Or because he felt bad about giving her a black eye.

They made their way across the low sand dunes to the row of beach-houses behind, each one partially screened by trees and scrubby bush. He led her through a clump of overhanging casuarinas to a narrow strip of lawn and a modest house on stilts. A small red car stood under an open carport to one side.

‘Here we are, Kate.’ He waved to a yellow banana lounger under a cluster of shady palm trees. ‘Take a seat here in the shade while I fetch that cold pack. Won’t be long.’

He bounded up an outdoor flight of stairs, three at a time. Her eyes followed him, drinking in the power and the lithe grace of his superb body. Again she wondered if he was staying alone in the house, or with a friend or a relative. Or a wife.

The thought that he was more likely to be here alone caused her heart to pick up a beat.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN he came back, he’d pulled on a white T-shirt. While it hid the deeply tanned flesh of his upper torso, it only accentuated the powerful muscles of his arms and chest and the amazing breadth of his shoulders.