New Doc in Town

New Doc in Town

Meredith Webber

Cover

Title Page

Praise

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

Praise for Meredith Webber:

‘Medical™ Romance favourite Meredith Webber has penned a spellbinding and moving tale set under the hot desert sun!’ —Cataromance on

THE DESERT PRINCE’S CONVENIENT BRIDE

‘Medical™ Romance favourite Meredith Webber has written an outstanding romantic tale that I devoured in a single sitting! Moving, engrossing, romantic and absolutely unputdownable. Ms Webber peppers her story with plenty of drama, emotion and passion, and she will keep her readers entranced until the final page.’ —Cataromance on

A PREGNANT NURSE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

Don’t miss this heartwarming new duet by Meredith Webber!

NEW DOC IN TOWN

Jo Harris has given up on love— but gorgeous Cam might just be able to light the sparkle in Jo once more!

MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Some ten years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

CHAPTER ONE

THE psychedelic camper-van spun through the entry to the parking lot with a squeal of tyres, startling Jo as she inserted the key into the deadlock on the surgery door. She watched, fingers tightening on the key she’d just turned, as a man in tattered board shorts and a bright Hawaiian-print shirt emerged from the van.

A very tall man, thickset.

With very broad shoulders.

Her heart might have skipped a beat but that didn’t stop her medical mind checking the man out.

He didn’t seem to be bleeding, and he wasn’t limping or doubled over in pain, so sending him on to the hospital was definitely the best idea …

Definitely!

But do it politely.

Don’t freak him out.

Calm voice, no sudden moves.

‘I’m sorry but the clinic is closed,’ she called out to him. Took a deep breath and added, ‘If you follow the main road down through two roundabouts then turn right at the third you’ll find the hospital. It has twenty-four-hour Accident and Emergency cover.’

Jo—Dr Joanna Harris to give her full title—carefully unlocked the door she’d just locked, and prayed that she sounded confident. The man didn’t move, standing motionless beside the van, studying her with a slight frown on his face, as if her words hadn’t made sense.

Then, like the sun bursting through clouds on a showery day, the frown cleared and the big man smiled.

Against all common sense Jo felt her tension ease, which was ridiculous given that the local pharmacy had been robbed three times in the last six months.

‘Shouldn’t there be more than one person locking up a medical clinic?’ the giant asked, his deep voice rumbling up from somewhere inside a broad chest that was barely hidden by the hula girls, hibiscus flowers and palm trees—a lot of palm trees.

Tension returned despite the fact the voice was warm—teasing almost—and held no hint of threat.

‘There are no drugs kept on the premises,’ Jo told him, pointing to a large sign posted on the glass door.

‘Do people actually believe those signs?’ the stranger asked, and though she knew people probably didn’t, Jo defended her sign.

‘Of course they do! And we’ve got cameras.’ She pointed to the camera angled downward from the corner of the building. ‘Now, if you’d just move your vehicle, I can put up the chain across the car-park entrance. We’re not open at all on Sunday. I was doing some tidying up.’

Stupid thing to say—now he’d know there was no one else around—although he’d probably guessed that when he’d seen her locking up. Maybe it was because the man wasn’t sending out scary vibes that she’d been prattling on to him.

She still had her fingers on the key and the key was in the lock and she was pretty sure she could get inside before he reached her if he did make a move in her direction.

Cam studied the woman who was resolutely—and foolishly—guarding the clinic entrance. She was a midget—five-three at the most, slim built but curvy for all that, and with a wild tangle of pale red hair—yet she was standing her ground.

He’d driven in on a whim, noticing the sign—Crystal Cove Medical Clinic—at the last minute, wanting to see the place, not expecting anyone to be there on a Sunday morning. It hadn’t been until he was out of the van that he’d seen the woman. Now he was trying to look as non-threatening as possible, arms hanging loosely at his sides, joints relaxed, although there was no way he could minimise his six-three height.

‘I’ll be going,’ he said, keeping his voice as soft and low as he could. ‘I noticed the sign as I was driving past and thought I’d take a look. I’m coming to work here, you see.’

Even across the car park he saw the woman turn so pale he thought she might faint, while her loss of colour made a wash of faint golden freckles stand out on her skin.

‘You’re coming to work here?’ she demanded. ‘You’re coming to work here?’

‘That’s right,’ Cam told her in his gentlest, most encouraging tone. The one he usually used to calm barking dogs and tearful small children.

And women who maybe weren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. This one had had to repeat his words a couple of times before she got the picture.

‘I’m the new doctor,’ he added. After all, people were usually reassured by doctors. ‘Got the job through Personal Medical Recruitments in Sydney.’ He offered another smile. ‘Not exactly looking the part at the moment, I’ll admit, but I polish up okay.’

‘You can’t be the new doctor,’ the woman wailed, and shook her head so bits of hair flew everywhere. ‘You can’t possibly be! You’re a man!’

Well, he could hardly deny the man part, but he was definitely a doctor, so Cam waited for more.

It wasn’t long in coming.

‘I asked for a mature woman,’ she continued, ‘preferably over forty, with counselling experience and a motherly manner, not for some overgrown adolescent male with a painted van and three surfboards and probably the counselling skills of an aardvark.’

Cam bit back an urge to ask if aardvarks had any counselling skills and if so how she knew. This wasn’t the moment to make light of the situation.

‘Maybe I was all they had,’ he suggested, although he was well aware he’d conned the woman at the medical recruitment agency into offering him this particular job, using every bit of charm he could dredge up because the surf at Crystal Cove was reputed to be some of the best on the east coast. Geographically, the spot was a perfect stopping-off place on his planned surfing safari. A high, rocky headland reached out into the sea, so if the southerlies were blowing the sheltered north cove would have good surf, while leaving effective swells on the open beach a few days later.

He’d thought he could fill in a few months here quite happily, working and surfing. The working part was important, as he knew there’d be times he couldn’t surf—flat sea, bad weather. He didn’t want to have long days doing nothing because doing nothing left him too much time for thinking, too much time for remembering the horrors he’d seen. ‘And I’ve not only done extra courses on counselling, but I’m good at it.’

His gut twisted as he said it, and it took all his skill at closing the many doors in his mind to shut away memories of the kind of counselling he’d done. He smiled to cover the momentary lapse.

Jo finally turned to face the man she’d been talking to over her shoulder, although she left the key in the lock. Living in a community where just about everyone rode the waves on one kind of board or another, she was used to seeing men with their over-long hair turned to, mostly temporary, dreadlocks by the salt, so this man’s brown, matted, sun-streaked hair wasn’t so unusual. Neither was his tanned face, which made his pale eyes—he was too far away to see a colour—seem paler, and his teeth, now he smiled, seem whiter.

The smile was good, but he was probably the kind of man who knew that—knew the power of a charming smile.

Charming?

Was it that good?

She’d certainly relaxed!

Annoyed by this self-revelation, she stiffened her resolve.

‘I’m sorry but I really don’t think it will work out. I didn’t ask for a woman on a whim, or because I can’t work with men—in fact, the former owner of the practice was a man and I worked with him for years. It’s just that … ‘

She couldn’t begin to list all the reasons this man would be an impossible employee.

‘Just that?’ he prompted, smiling again but helpfully this time.

‘Just that it’s impossible!’ Jo snapped, but even as she said it, she realised how stupid this was, to be having the conversation across half the parking lot—the man standing where he’d emerged from the van, she on the surgery steps. ‘Oh, come up to the house,’ she added crossly, then shook her head. ‘No, show me some authorisation and identification first—something from the agency, your driver’s licence, anything.’

He reached back into the van and brought out a quite respectable-looking briefcase, tan leather, a bit battered, but in not bad condition. He opened it and withdrew a file.

‘It’s all in here,’ he said, walking towards her.

He walked well, very upright, yet with an unconscious grace. She could picture him on a surfboard, cutting across the face of a wave, a conqueror of the ocean, sun glinting off the water droplets on that chest …

Jo gave herself a mental head-slap—a reminder to stay with it, although the longing that had come with the thought of riding the sea remained like a bruise in her chest. The man was still a stranger for all he knew the name of the agency she used to recruit staff, and held himself in an unthreatening manner. Reading body language was something she’d had to learn, but he, too, could have learned it.

He stopped a reasonable distance from her and passed her the file, then stepped back. Yep, he’d done the same body language course! Maybe he was the genuine article. but she’d wanted a woman.

She opened the file and stared at the photo it contained. Surely the gorgeous male with the short back and sides hairstyle, the dark arched eyebrows over pale blue-grey eyes, the long straight nose and shapely lips quirked, in the photo, into a slight smile wasn’t the surfie type standing right in front of her.

She looked from the photo to the man and saw the eyes, blue-grey, and then the same quirky, half-embarrassed smile, although the beard stubble she could see now he was closer to her hid the shapely lips.

‘Fraser Cameron?’

A quick, decisive nod.

‘I’m usually called Cam. I’d just got out of the army when they took the photo,’ the man explained. ‘I had an interview with the agency, put in my résumé, promised to keep in touch by phone and went surfing for a while. Nothing like a few years in the desert to give you a longing for the ocean. Deserts and ocean—well, they have sand in common but that’s about all.’

As job interviews went, this wasn’t going too well. Cam had realised that from the start. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the young woman in front of him was his boss-to-be, and she didn’t seem too happy about any aspect of him, even apart from the fact he wasn’t female.

Not that he could blame her. He should have had a shower at the beach and washed the salt out of his hair—at least run a comb through it. But until he’d seen the sign for the surgery and driven in on a whim, he’d been intent on finding a caravan park and having a proper hot shower and shave for the first time in, what—four days? He rubbed his hand across his chin—no, maybe only three. He’d stopped in Port Macquarie and had a shave there …

She was reading through his résumé, glancing up at him from time to time as if trying to fit the printed words to the unshaven man in front of her, and the fact that she was occupied gave Cam the chance to study her in turn.

The wild hair was probably the bane of her life, untamed curls that would refuse to do what she required of them. Today she’d tugged her hair into some kind of clip thing on the top of her head but, like Medusa’s snakes, strands were curling out from the containment and glinting a vibrant red-gold in the sun. Her skin went with the red hair—pale and freckled, almost milk white at her temples and so fine he could see the blue line of a blood vessel beneath it. Would he feel the throb of her heartbeat if he kissed that blue thread?

The thought startled him so much he took a step backwards, just as she looked up, clear green eyes fixed on him—still shooting darts of suspicion in his direction.

‘I guess you are who you say you are,’ she muttered, so obviously put out at having to make the admission he had to smile.

‘But still not a woman,’ he reminded her, the temptation to tease her too strong to resist.

She shot him a glare that might have affected a lesser man, but he’d grown up with three sisters, all of whom were good glarers, so he met it with a smile, although he knew—also thanks to his siblings—it would make her angrier.

‘The house is this way,’ she said, leading him across the front of the clinic building then along the side of it to where steep steps climbed towards a house that must look north over the ocean. From the bottom of the steps he could see how the clever architect had cantilevered the building out from the steep slope, and he could imagine the magnificent view of the ocean whoever lived in the house must enjoy.

‘Wow!’

He could say no more for the stairway ended on the wide deck of the house he’d admired from below, and the sweep of beach and ocean, the high headland protecting the corner of the bay, and more ocean beyond it simply took his breath away.

‘You would have seen the whales migrating north at the beginning of winter, but they’re heading south now with their calves, on their long journey home to Antarctica.’

He glanced at the woman who’d offered this titbit of information. She was standing not far away, and he knew from the expression on her face that no matter how often she looked out at this unbelievably beautiful view it would never pall for her. Just seeing it had softened her mood enough for her to share her joy in the annual whale migration.

Softened it enough to accept him as an employee?

‘I gather you are Dr Harris?’ he said, wishing he’d asked more about his prospective employer when the woman from the agency had discussed the job. In truth, from the moment she’d mentioned Crystal Cove, he’d been so busy convincing her he would be perfect for the job he’d barely asked a question.

She was smiling now, the petite redhead on the deck with him, smiling and shaking her head.

‘Ask that question of anyone in town and they’ll say no. Dr Harris was my father, but I am a doctor, Joanna Harris, Dr Jo, or just plain Jo to the locals, most of whom have known me all my life. Some of the older ones are still, though I’ve been back for five years, a bit dubious about trusting me to diagnose their problems or prescribe medication for their ills. It’s because they did that dandling me on their knee thing years ago and can’t believe I’ve grown up.’

‘You took over your father’s practice?’ It was stupid to be asking the obvious but there’d been tension in Joanna Harris’s voice and he wondered if it was simply to do with the locals not accepting her entirely, or to do with something else.

‘His practice, his house, his life,’ she responded, sounding happier now, even smiling. ‘My mother died when I was young and Dad brought me and my sister up, then, whammo, two years ago he met a woman who sailed in here on a yacht, and he fell in love. His life is now with her, wandering the world, it’s wonderful!’

Faint colour in her cheeks and a shine in her eyes told Cam she was genuinely happy for her father, so why the tension earlier?

And did it matter?

He was coming to work for this woman, he didn’t need to know what made her tick.

‘But taking over his practice? Was that not so wonderful?’

Okay, so what made people tick fascinated him—he’d had to ask!

Jo studied the man who’d erupted into her life. So she’d told him about her dad going off, but did that give him the right to pry further into her life? And why ask that particular question? What had she said to make him think her life back in Crystal Cove was anything but perfect?

It wasn’t, of course, and probably never would be, not entirely, and especially not if the refuge closed because without the refuge she’d have time on her hands—time to think—and that meant letting all the mess of grief and guilt from Jilly’s death come flooding back. That definitely wasn’t his business.

She had no intention of answering his questions, now or ever. Neither was he staying. With school holidays looming and the town due to double or even triple in population for a couple of months, maybe he’d have to stay until the agency found her someone more suitable, but permanently?

No way!

The problem was, given that he was on her front deck, what did she do with him right now? She had to say something.

Politeness dictated the answer.

‘Would you like a coffee, tea, a cold drink?’

She looked up at him as she asked the question and saw the white lines fanning out from his eyes where he’d smiled, or squinted, in the sun. She saw lines of stress in his face as well. A photo taken when he’d just left the army? An army doctor? In this day and age most army doctors would have been deployed in war zones overseas. He’d mentioned deserts. Of course there’d be lines of stress in his face.

‘Water is fine,’ he replied, and she guessed he was probably as uncomfortable as she was.

‘I’m making coffee,’ she persisted, ‘so it’s no trouble.’

He looked down at her, a slight frown on his face.

‘Water’s fine,’ he repeated, then he crossed to the edge of the deck and looked out over the ocean.

Jo hurried into the house, anxious to read more of the file she held in her hands. It was strange that the agency hadn’t contacted her to let her know the man was coming—although maybe it was because he was a man they’d neglected to contact her. They knew she wanted a woman; they even knew why.

The kitchen faced the deck so she could keep an eye on the stranger as she popped a capsule into her coffee machine. While the milk heated, she flicked through the pages, coming to a highlighted passage about Dr Fraser Cameron’s second degree in psychology and his counselling experience. Had the agency highlighted it, or had they told him what she wanted so he’d highlighted it himself?

He’d been counselling young soldiers in a war zone? Doing more than counselling, too, no doubt.

Putting young men and women back together physically as well as mentally.

The very thought made Jo’s stomach tighten.

But hard as his job must have been, how would it relate to counselling women in a refuge?

The refuge …

If it closed it wouldn’t matter one jot whether the man could counsel women or not.

If it closed she wouldn’t need another doctor in the practice …

Jo sighed then stiffened, straightening her shoulders and reinforcing her inner determination.

The refuge was not going to close!

What’s more, if this man was going to stay, even in the short term, he’d have to help her make sure it didn’t.

She poured the milk into her coffee, filled a glass with water from the refrigerator, and headed back to the deck.

‘Did the agency explain the type of counselling you’d be required to do?’ she asked him as he came towards the table where she’d set down their drinks.

The little frown she’d noticed earlier deepened and he shook his head, then shrugged shoulders that were so broad she wondered how he fitted through a doorway.

Shoulders?

Why was she thinking of shoulders? Worse, when had she last even noticed physical attributes in a man, yet here she was seeing lines in his face, and checking on shoulders …

‘They said you wanted someone with counselling experience because although there was a psychologist in Crystal Cove, he, or maybe it was a she, was already overworked. I assumed you probably ran well-men and well-women clinics, sex education at the schools and parenting skills courses. You’d be likely to use counselling as part of these.’

Jo sighed.

‘The women’s refuge wasn’t mentioned?’

His reaction was a blank stare, followed by a disbelieving ‘Women’s refuge? The town has a population of what, thirty-five hundred and you have a women’s refuge?’

‘The area has a much larger population—small farms, villages, acreage lots where people have retired or simply moved in. Anyway, just because women live in a small town, does that mean they’re not entitled to a safe place to go?’

Had she snapped that he held up his hands in surrender?

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry! No way I meant that, but it came as a shock, the refuge thing. No wonder you took one look at me and saw me as a disaster. My size alone is enough to frighten horses, not to mention vulnerable women, but surely we can work through this. Surely the women who use the refuge come in contact with other men in their lives, men who aren’t threatening to them? And wouldn’t it be a good thing if they did? If they got to know men who didn’t threaten them? Men who are just as horrified by what is happening to them, and just as empathetic with them, as a woman counsellor would be?’

He was right, of course! One of the refuge’s strongest supporters was Mike Sinclair, the officer in charge of the local police force, while Tom Fletcher, head of the small local hospital, was loved by all the women who used the refuge. But the refuge aside, did she want this man working for her?

The answer that sprang immediately to mind was a firm no, but when she questioned it she didn’t like the reasons. They were far too personal. She was judging the man on his appearance, not his ability—judging him on the effect he was having on her.

Anyway, did she have a choice but to accept him?

Not right now.

‘I suppose you’ll have to do,’ she said, hoping it hadn’t come out as an unwilling mutter. ‘But it’s a trial, you have to understand that. I’m not promising it will work out, but right now I’m desperate. The town doubles in size in school holidays, which begin officially in a fortnight, but before that we have the wonderful invasion of schoolies.’

‘Schoolies? You have schoolies coming here?’