Dickens and Me

CHAPTER SIX
(copyright 2009 Anita Birt)

Still knee high in murky water, Greg braced the handle of his shovel under his arm to stay upright and avoid slipping on the treacherous muddy bottom. Falling face first didn't appeal. He sloshed to the stone steps at the edge of the pond, tossed the shovel aside and clambered out.
Safely on dry land he shuffled out of his sneakers, peeled off his sodden socks, wiped his bare feet on the grass and dragged off his shirt to clean off his face and hands. Mucky dead leaves dripped off his legs. Not exactly the picture of sartorial elegance. He tried not to think how bad he smelled.
But what the hell, she should have phoned to tell him she was coming.
Kim angled over to Caroline as Greg strode up the hill. He tossed his shirt by the hose reel next to the verandah.
"Kim's a sociable dog. Rub behind her ears and she'll be your friend for life."
Caroline didn't want to be its friend for life but, being a dog lover, she dutifully rubbed Kim gently behind her ears.
"If you've got a few minutes come and join me on the swing." He glanced at his mud caked hands and legs. "I'll wash off some of this muck before you come any closer. I've been cleaning the duck pond and didn't expect company.
He dragged the hose from the reel turned it on and sluiced water over his legs, arms and chest. As he twisted the nozzle the hose jerked spraying his belly and soaking the front of his shorts.
Caroline's fascinated gaze rested on his thighs and the contours of his male assets. She had never seen Greg naked except that one time in Ottawa. Today in raggedy jeans cut-offs, water dripping from his body, he looked terrific.
Sexy, she thought and quickly dismissed that dangerous notion. As she walked to the swing questions buzzed inside her head. Why had she driven out here? When he hadn't answered the phone, she'd left a message for him to call her. Why not wait for him to return it? That would have been sensible.
Sensible? She hadn't been thinking sensibly since he walked into the clinic. It was as if she had to connect with him, like an electrical circuit, like joining two wires together.
And then what? Jolt him into recognizing her? Make him suffer for something he'd done in the past?
What good would that do now? She had changed. So had he. But she disliked unfinished business. After she'd dealt with the threatened lawsuit she'd arrange to meet Greg somewhere quiet.
Her stomach tensed.
It was quiet in the garden. Why not now?
He joined her on the swing and sat directly opposite her. Now was not the time. Not in his space. It didn't feel right.
She didn't want to meet him in her apartment either. Neutral ground would be better. Not too public. Too many people would recognize her and tongues would wag.
Caroline twisted her fingers together. What had she got herself into? She should have stayed in the car.
He was too close and too handsome. Unless she shut her eyes she had to look at him or stare at the sky. He pushed on the slatted floor with bare feet. The swing creaked quietly as it moved gently backwards and forwards. Drawing in a deep breath she let the restful motion calm her.
"You've some important information for me," she glanced at her watch. "I have an appointment in town." A quick getaway was better than spending more time with him.
He rested his arms along the back of his seat. Caroline shifted her bemused gaze from his muscular arms to his face.
"Glad you came. I could've saved you the drive but your receptionist refused to give me your phone number."
"Sorry about that. Betty guards our private lives like a mother bear with cubs. I phoned you an hour ago, didn't get an answer and decided to come out here."
He had great looking legs with well-developed muscles. Water from his wet cut-offs dripped through the slats as the swing rocked quietly. He had strong feet. A dirty bandage covered his right heel.
She stopped doing an inventory of his physical features. "So what's the information? Something to do with the accident?"
He nodded. "I've got a near photographic memory, images stick like glue unless I make an effort to clear them. Even words stick. Yesterday evening I got thinking about what happened and how worried you were about a possible lawsuit. I pictured the accident scene. Played it over and over inside my head."
"Did you remember something?"
"It's about the big man you mentioned yesterday. You said he smashed off the car doors. I remembered a woman's voice. She said, as near as I can recall, "I'm damned sure that's Big Jack Weaver." Didn't mean a thing to me at the time but I'm wondering if this Weaver character is the man who helped you. What did he use to break the doors? That might be a clue."
"A sledge hammer."
Greg frowned. "Did he get it from a car or a truck?"
"I don't know. I was too busy. He suddenly appeared, got the doors off, and as quickly disappeared. In the noise and confusion and the girl screaming, it's a wonder I noticed anything."
"He could have been splitting logs in the woods, heard the crash and came to help."
Caroline relaxed enough to smile. "He was a really big man, black curly hair, big hands, looked strong enough to fell an ox."
She breathed deeply. "I really appreciate this. You've got a name. I can describe him. I even remember his blue and red checked shirt, long sleeves, and a rose tattoo on the back of his right hand. The police should be able to trace him."
She should go home. Greg had been working and probably wanted to get back at it but she felt glued to the swing. Waiting.
For what? For him to sort through his memory bank and remember Caroline Kate Southern from high school? Had she changed so much she'd disappeared from view?
Greg wiped flakes of dried mud off his arms. "How are you feeling? You looked strung out yesterday evening."
"Much better." Why was he such a nice guy? Taking time to help her. "I'd better go."
"How about a beer? It's hellishly hot."
"No thanks." She rocked forward on the swing. The bandage on his heel dropped off and fell through the slats. "What's wrong with your heel?"
"Blistered. I should've worn thicker socks with my boots yesterday."
"Have you had a recent tetanus shot?"
"Yes, Doctor. In Africa I made sure my shots were up-to-date."
His killer smile teased an answering smile from Caroline. "If it's all right with you I'll check on it before I leave." Her doctoring instincts over-ruled her desire to beat a hasty retreat. He'd been in the filthy pond with millions of nasty bacteria lurking in the water.
He stopped pushing the swing. "Suits me if you think it's necessary."
"I think it's necessary. I'll get my bag from the car."
He held her hand as they stepped off the swing. A tingle coursed up her arm. She couldn't snatch her hand away. He was being courteous and thoughtful. It had been years since a man had held her hand, or opened doors for her or made her feel like she was special.
Greg made her feel cared for.
Because he'd touched her? Get a grip.
She hadn't missed having a man around until Greg offered her his hand. For a few seconds she felt protected, and just as quickly knew she was way off base. Why did he make her feel that way? She slipped her hand from his.
Step by step she'd become tough and self-reliant. Her personal and professional lives suited her perfectly until fate had conspired to play games with her.
Greg had returned to Markbridge and her orderly little world had plunged into a morass of old memories.
He walked her to the car. "Come round back. I'll wash off again and get a towel from the laundry room. You can doctor me in the kitchen. Okay?"
"Okay." Greg wasn't her patient but she had to treat his blistered heel because the dirt in the duck pond posed a serious threat.
She got her bag from the car. After today, there'd be no reason for them to see each other. His recall of the conversation at the accident scene had relieved some of her worry about the threatened lawsuit. If only Big Jack Weaver remembered as well as Greg she'd be home free.
Bag in hand she hurried around to the back of the house. For seconds she stopped on the terrace steps overwhelmed by the beauty of the garden and pool.
She envied Greg. Growing up here must have been magical. Living here as an adult would be heavenly.
Imagine waking early on a sunny morning and diving naked into the pool. Floating. Letting cares slip away. Dreaming pleasant dreams of...
"What do you think? Am I clean enough?"
Jolted from her dreamy thoughts Caroline regarded him. He'd washed his legs and feet using the hose by the terrace. She hunkered down to examine the blister. Shading her eyes she gazed up at him.
"What were you doing in the pond with an inflamed blister? It's oozing bloody fluid." She straightened up.
He grabbed a towel hanging over the back of a lawn chair and dried his legs. "I didn't think about it."
"You'd better go inside and clean it with soap and water before I dress it."
"Where do you want to operate, Dr. Balfour? Kitchen or bathroom?"
Not the house. It would be too intimate in the bathroom or kitchen. Better to stay outside where she could enjoy the view and keep her distance.
"It's too nice to go indoors. Let's stay out here. You can stretch out on the chaise while I see how the blister looks close up."
She put her bag on a small table beside the chaise. "Sit on the edge of the bathtub and wash your leg under the tap. Be gentle washing your heel. Use lots of soap and water and pat the inflamed area until it's dry."
Greg grinned. "Whatever you say, Doctor. You're the boss." He disappeared into the house.
Under the hot sun the garden glowed like an artist's palette. A summery scent drifted on the air. Patio furniture padded in a rose and white striped fabric invited restful contemplation.
Happy to be alone Caroline sauntered down the stone steps to the pool. A light breeze ruffled the surface. Sunshine sparkled on the water. Kneeling down she swished her hand in it. Perfect for swimming. Or floating. Or being lazy.
Wistfully aware she'd never have a pool like this she stood, walked back to the terrace and sat on one of the padded chairs.
Her heart sank as she heard him whistling the Markbridge High School song yelled at every football and basketball game. Why was he whistling it? Had he figured out who she was?
He opened the screen door and marched out on the terrace holding two frosty bottles of beer like trophies. His dog padded at his side.
"That's my high school marching song. It came to me out of the blue while I washed my leg."
Momentarily relieved to be off the hook, Caroline smiled. "You and the dog look like a dog and pony act minus the pony."
A hurt look passed over his face as he popped the top off a beer and handed it to her. "Sadly, my talent has fallen on deaf ears."
"Afraid so." She put the beer on the table beside her bag. "Lie on the chaise, please."
He opened his bottle, tipped it up and swallowed. "If this is going to hurt I'll dull my brain with alcohol." He stretched out on the chaise and propped the bottle on his bare chest.
"You won't need alcohol. I never do surgery on Monday."
"Glad to hear that. I've always liked that heel."
Caroline bit back a smile. "Please lie on your stomach so I can work on your heel."
"How's this?" Lying face down he turned his head to the side and glanced over his shoulder.
"Perfect." Her fingertips tingled to touch his spine and trace it down his back to...
What was she thinking?
He's not my patient. She excused her professional lapse. Greg Fraser is not my patient. She was taking care of his heel as her way of thanking him for remembering Big Jack Weaver. She owed him something for that.
She pressed her wayward fingertips around the blister. "Does that hurt?"
"Some."
"There's a lot of redness. That's to be expected considering you haven't taken care of it. Digging out the duck pond wasn't smart."
"Do your best, Doctor."
"Thank you." She studied the blister. "Considering the muck you've been in I'm surprised it's looking so healthy."
He propped up on his left elbow. "Do you think I'll live?"
She opened her bag. "Quite sure. I'll dress it with antibiotic cream and tape a sterile pad over it."
Working quickly she completed the bandaging. "Keep it covered for at least a day. No shower. No swimming."
She removed a prescription pad from her bag. "Have you any allergies?"
"Not that I know of."
"What about drugs?"
He grinned. "Legal or illegal?"
"Legal." She smiled. "Prescription drugs like penicillin."
"None that I know of."
"Okay, I'm writing a note for Dr. Halliday telling him I dressed your blister. Come to the clinic if there's any change, any throbbing pain, that kind of thing. Or if you feel ill or run a temperature." She wrote quickly and handed him the note."
"Have you finished?" He stuck the note in his pocket, rolled over and sat up.
"Yes." She packed her bag and snapped it shut.
"Then it's time to celebrate."
"Celebrate?"
He paused and swung his legs over the side of the chaise.
"We'll celebrate our relationship. You're not my doctor and I'm not your patient."
"Mr. Fraser, we don't have a relationship. There's nothing to celebrate."
"There will be when I finish telling you about it so drink some beer and relax."
Caroline tensed. He'd known all along who she was and been playing cat and mouse with her. The way he whistled that song should have clued her in.
Deciding to brave it out, she coolly picked up the beer and knocked back a good mouthful. "Well?" She smothered a beery burp.
"I know I barged into your office with a flimsy excuse and I apologize but I get the feeling I've done something else that's offended you. It's as though I'm walking on eggs when we're together. I'm not perfect but parts of me are okay." He paused. "I read that last bit somewhere so why treat me as though I carry the bubonic plague?"
Caroline sucked in a deep breath. What was she going to say? Her brain scurried like a rat in a maze searching for an answer. Tell him the truth. Get it over with and get out.
Before she could speak he held up his hand. "I haven’t finished. I have another question.
"You do?" She clasped the cool bottle to steady her shaky hands.
"I'm not your patient, am I?"
"No."
"We don't have to stand on ceremony."
"Ceremony." She echoed, stalling for time to organize her thoughts.
"Exactly. We can act like two normal human beings. I think it's time you called me something other than Mr. Fraser? How about Greg?"
"Okay. Call me Caroline. Most of my patients do." What else could she say? Calling him Greg didn't feel right. Keeping him at arm's length as Mr. Fraser felt better. More controlled.
She put the bottle on the table, picked up her bag and got to her feet. "I'm sorry, I have to leave. I have an appointment to take my bike in to the repair shop."
He stood. "Okay, Caroline, what gives? I don't like walking on eggs."
Caroline made her lips smile. "I've been preoccupied lately. I'll be more pleasant in the future."
"Preoccupied? About what?"
She leaped at the first thought that came to her. "I'm considering a job offer in the States."
"You're leaving the clinic after a few months to jump ship and head south? That's not fair, is it? What's the attraction? He shook his head. "I don't understand why you want to leave Canada. Aren't they paying you enough here?"
The sarcastic tone grated on her. "It's my life and I'll decide where and how I choose to live it."
She raised her brows. "Good-bye, Mr. Fraser." She walked quickly across the terrace, stopped at the top of the stone steps and turned to face him. "Some of us haven't had your advantages. Some of us have had to scrimp and save and..."
Biting her tongue she fled down the steps with Greg in pursuit. She darted around the house, tossed her bag in the car, slid behind the wheel and rolled up the window. Tears stung her eyes.
"Wait!" Greg banged on the window.
She turned the key, slammed the car in gear and took off.