Violets in February (2 page)

Kinta, her assistant, appeared from a side room. “You shouldn't let him get to you so, daktari.”

“I wish he didn't. Let's get this lot put away, then go grab lunch before the afternoon clinic starts.” She tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear and picked up the box of vaccine. There wasn't nearly enough, but perhaps if she ordered more now, it would come in two weeks on the next supply truck.

She could hear Jed from here, yelling and cursing at something. She shook her head. Couldn't he do anything without turning the air blue? His shouts got louder, ending in a cry that could be rage or pain or sheer frustration.

Running footsteps crossed the wooden verandah. Tim stuck his head around the door. “Luce, bring your med kit. Jed's hurt himself.”

She grabbed the bag from the side and ran outside.

Jed stood by the truck, wrapping a filthy rag around his hand, using every expletive she'd ever heard and a few that she hadn't.

“Mr. Gorman!” she yelled, crossing over to him. “That is no example to set the kids! Perhaps I should find you a toothbrush and some soap?”

~*~

Jed glared at her. All he wanted was to get out of here. Now. Preferably ten minutes ago, but his blasted Ute had other ideas. If he ever found out which mongrel had let the tire down they'd be sorry. He finished tying the rag around his hand. All it needed was to hold until he reached civilization tomorrow.

“Well, pardon my French,” he growled. “They don't speak English anyway.”

“That is beside the point.” Lucy set the bag on the edge of the bonnet. “Tim said you were hurt. Is your hand all right?”

He muttered another expletive. “Does it look all right?”

“That rag is filthy. If you've cut or burned your hand, it'll get infected.”

“It'll be apples.” He bent and picked up the tire iron. “I don't need your help. I need this tire changed.”

“Are you afraid of doctors, Mr. Gorman?”

He scowled and turned his back on her, fitting the tire iron. He needed to finish changing this wheel and he could bail. “No, I just don't want you fussing.” He hissed in pain.

He could feel her eyes on him and wasn't surprised when she didn't drop it. He glared at her reflection in the Ute window.

“You're shaking,” she said in that annoying matter-of-fact voice of hers. “Does it hurt?”

“Of course it blasted well hurts!” he snarled. “I just have no intentions of letting a sheila touch me.” Talking and flirting was one thing, part of the game. Actual physical contact was something else altogether.

She frowned. “Then we have a problem, because I'm the only doctor for miles. The question is, Mr. Gorman, are you going to look like a coward in front of the kids?”

Pain and anger tore at him. He detested being called a coward even more than he hated having a sheila touch him. But he had to concede, albeit reluctantly, that she did have a point.

He needed to get out of here, and he couldn't do that with a duff hand.

Sucking in a deep breath, he reluctantly held out his hand. “Fine. You may look.”

Lucy snapped on a pair of medical gloves and unwrapped the cloth. Her brows furrowed and her cold fingers probed the cut. “It looks deep. What did you do?”

He rolled his eyes, swearing under his breath. Was the sheila blind? Couldn't she see what he was doing? “Flat tire.” He hissed as she examined the wound. “Do you have to be so rough?”

“I'm sorry, I thought you liked it rough,” she muttered, straight-faced.

He glowered at her, but before he had time to shoot back an even ruder reply, the kids giggled and chattered. “What are they saying?” he demanded.

She glanced up. “They think you're a baby making a fuss over nothing.”

He scowled, growled low and deep, and took a step towards the group of kids. “I'll give them baby!”

Lucy kept hold of his arm as the kids scattered. “You'll do no such thing. And you can't drive like this either. This needs stiches. Now hold still, and let me work.”

He glowered at her and swore, the full force of his anger and pain focused on her. “What are you talking about, woman?”

“Do you mind not swearing? Didn't your mother teach you anything?”

“Don't you bring my mother into this! I'll darn well swear if I want to.”

“You need stiches,” she repeated slowly, her ice blue eyes staring into him. “Now, sit down, shut up, and let me work.”

He slumped into the driver's seat on his Ute and fell silent as the blonde doctor began to clean and stich his hand. There was only one thing in this forsaken world he hated more than being shown up, and that was Christians. He hated this part of his job more than anything. Being forced to have close contact with them. This doctor in particular. There was something about her that set his teeth on edge. And not just his teeth either. Every nerve he possessed went into full blown alert mode. She was dangerous.

He swore as the pain in his hand increased. “Blimey, woman! How tight do you need to pull them?”

“Almost done.”

He glared at the top of her head. The sooner he was out of here, the better. The world would be a far better place if it weren't full of do-gooders. He'd had enough of those when he was a kid.

“All done.” Lucy looked up at him. “With one exception. When was your last tetanus shot?”

He shrugged. “Don't know. Don't care.”

“Then you need one.”

“Oh, no.” He pushed up. “I need to—”

“—have this shot,” she continued. “We can either do it here or in the surgery. Unless you don't like needles, either.”

The kids laughed again. Were they laughing at him or his reaction to her?

“You just stitched me up with a blasted needle, woman,” he muttered. He pushed his sleeve further up his arm, exposing the edge of one of his many tattoos. “I'm not afraid.”

“Good. So, unless you want me to do it out here, I suggest we go inside.”

Jed's face burned and he had a sudden pain in the pit of his stomach. “Strewth. You have got to be kidding me, lady. There is absolutely no way I am gonna drop my pants for anyone.”

The doctor didn't even have the decency to meet his gaze as she closed her bag. “Your choice. But lockjaw isn't a pretty death. It starts with muscle spasms in your jaw which spread throughout your body and sometimes prevents breathing. In some cases, they do a tracheotomy or hook you up to a ventilator to keep you alive. It also causes heart failure, pneumonia, bone fractures…”

He held up a hand. “All right, all right. After you.” He followed her inside the hot, airless hut, muttering under his breath and using every cuss word he could think of and then some.

She moved over to the side, and pulled a vial from the fridge.

Still cursing, Jed undid his belt and zip.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Just the shirt. It goes in your shoulder.”

Jed scowled, his face burning. He swore loudly, not caring if he upset her delicate nature. The uptight woman stood there with a smirk on her face. Did she get a kick out of humiliating him? Well, two could play at that game. And this was one game he was exceedingly good at. He did up his zip and ran his tongue over his lips as suggestively as he could. He undid his shirt, one button at a time, taking his time over it, keeping his gaze firmly on her ample figure.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, faint color touching her high cheek bones. “You haven't got anything I haven't seen before. Turn around.”

Jed turned his back on her as he slid out of the shirt, exposing his tattooed skin. Would she comment on the markings? Ask about them? No doubt, she wouldn't approve, but he really didn't care. Each one was done for a reason. And she thought he was scared of needles. Her cold hands touched him briefly, before she gave him the shot. He hissed and swore. “That hurt.”

“Yeah, it does, but it hurts a whole lot less than dying would.”

“Wanna bet?” He pulled away from her, sliding his arm back into his shirt. The movement made him swear again—not even the tattoo on his ankle had hurt that much. This time his well-chosen expletives made her blush properly.

Good.

Tim came back in. “I've organized you a room, Jed.”

“Thanks.” He didn't mean it. He didn't want to stay.

“You're welcome. Lunch is about now. Dinner is at seven.”

“I need to radio the base, let them know.” He did his shirt up, ignoring the pain. He'd had worse, done worse, and he wouldn't let this get to him.

“Sure, I'll show you where to go.”

“Cheers, mate.” Jed stomped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Perhaps he could avoid the sheila until morning. Or until the next time he had to come and deliver her supplies. He shoved his injured hand into his pocket and glanced at the Ute. It was still propped up on the jack.

“I'll get the boys to replace the wheel for you,” Tim said.

“Cheers.” Jed nodded to him.

The bloke never had a hair out of place and his shirts always looked immaculate. He could have stepped right out of a clothing magazine rather than a hut in the middle of a jungle.

Jed jerked his head at the clinic. “That sheila has a sick sense of humor. Does she get a kick out of humiliating people?”

The older man studied him, making Jed feel uncomfortable. “Actually, Lucy rarely jokes at all. And never says anything she doesn't mean. Once you get to know her, she's fine.”

Jed humphed. He had no intentions of getting to know the woman. Now or ever.

2

Lucy stood in the doorway watching Jed's retreating figure. For someone so lithe, he trod heavily. His rudeness astounded her. Not even a thank you. And she hadn't seen that many tattoos on bare skin for many years. No doubt, each one had a story attached. The knife and boomerang was obviously a military unit, the words
strike first
being the unit motto. She made a mental note to check online later. Ironic, one would have thought a soldier would tread lighter. Shoving her hands through her hair in a feeble effort to get Jed out of her mind, she went back inside to finish clearing up.

Kinta was already there. “I do that. You go eat.”

Lucy shook her head. “I'm not hungry, now. You go.”

Left to her own devices, she put away the supplies. Vaccines and other meds went in the fridge. Hopefully the generator wouldn't go out. She didn't want to lose the whole lot again. Bandages, lint, cotton wool, and antiseptic went in the cupboard. The other bottles went on the shelf. She stood there a while, ensuring the bottles were straight, with every single label aligned and facing outwards. Just as she finished, the first patients arrived.

Mid-afternoon she eased her hands against her aching back. Maybe she should have eaten, but there was nothing she could do about that now. A brief lull in the clinic wasn't enough time. In fact, she could guarantee if she did run across to the dining hut and beg a slice of bread, there would be a five-mile queue when she returned.

Laughing and shouting came in through the open window. She crossed to the door and looked out over the compound.

Jed Gorman and several members of staff were playing English football with the kids. It looked like boys against girls.

She leaned against the doorframe and watched. Jed was good, maybe he played a lot. She allowed herself a small smile as she observed him.

He made sure all the kids got to join in, sometimes deliberately passing the ball to the other team if one person seemed to be missing out.

“Av a go yer mug,” he encouraged, which she assumed was some Aussie football chant; and tossed a child into the air when they scored a goal, shouting, “You beaut.”

So different from the rude, arrogant man he usually was.

His injured hand didn't seem to be bothering him at all. Or if it was, he made a concerted effort to conceal it.

Tim wiped the sweat from his brow and waved at her. “Come on, Luce. The girls' team needs help.”

Lucy shook her head. “They're doing fine. Seem to be winning,” she added as the girls scored again.

Jed glanced at her. “Don't be a wowser, Dr. Boyd. Come and play. Or don't you know how to play soccer?”

“Some of us have work to do, Mr. Gorman.”

He scowled. “I'm no bludger. Besides, if some of us hadn't been told they weren't allowed to drive, they would be working.”

She returned the scowl. Why did he have to take every single thing she said and throw it back in her face?

Tim glanced at her. “Luce, can you get the half-time drinks? Or do you still have a string of patients to see?”

Kinta came out to join the game. “There is no one waiting.”

Lucy sighed and turned. “I'm a doctor not a tea lady.” She caught herself. “But I will do it joyfully. Reluctantly, maybe, but I will do it, nonetheless.” She made two pitchers of juice and put them on a tray with several cups.

The kids pounced almost as soon as she headed outside, draining the cups and wanting refills. She served them and then the adults. Glancing up, she held a cup out to Jed.

“Did you poison it?” he asked.

She stuck her free hand on her hip and shot him the most indignant glare she could muster. “And why would I want to do a stupid thing like that?” she demanded. “You'd only be here longer if I did.”

He took the cup and sniffed it. “Or dead.”

Lucy bit her tongue. “If I wanted you dead, Mr. Gorman, there are far better ways of doing it than taking out my colleagues and a load of innocent kids at the same time. Drink it or don't. I'm not fussed either way.” She put the jug down and headed back inside.

His mocking whistle followed her. “Strewth, who rattled her cage?”

She slammed the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. “Oh, God, give me patience,” she prayed. “But hurry. I don't often ask things like this, but please—” She drew in a deep breath. “I'll just keep busy, keep out of his way until he leaves, and things will be fine.”