The Midwife's New-found Family. Fiona McArthur

he peered into his eyes his pupils seemed equal and he wasted a couple of seconds trying to see the dilation response before he frowned at the hopelessness of trying to catch a pupil reaction on his own face. Idiot. Of course he couldn’t. But anything to stop his mind wandering back into the bedroom next door.

      ‘Are you OK, Ben?’ Misty’s voice came through the door and he looked into the mirror to warn himself to behave.

      ‘Fine, thanks. Be out in a sec,’ he said. ‘Right after the cold shower,’ he finished under his breath.

      When he opened the bathroom door five minutes later she’d straightened the bed and disappeared.

      He found her on the veranda, gazing out over the beach. The moon hadn’t risen yet but the sky was lightening on the horizon where it would emerge.

      ‘It’s beautiful when the moon rises out of the sea,’ he said as he stopped beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Her neck was taut under his hand and as he rubbed that tender curve he noticed the nervousness she seemed suddenly afflicted with.

      She was having second thoughts on her decision to stay. Well, that was fair enough. Very wise of her.

      Reluctantly, his arm slid from her shoulders and he stepped back. So how could he still feel her warmth against his body as if he still held her? Because he wanted her back against him, that’s how.

      She cupped her hands over her upper arms as if to warm herself, and he forced himself not to pull her back into his arms. No doubt she had some boyfriend to rush off to, or she could even be married with a dozen children.

      He smiled to himself at that. Her body hadn’t seen a dozen children and she wore no ring. He’d checked those things while holding her as they’d drifted off to sleep. Now, why had he done that?

      He needed space between them or he’d initiate something they’d both regret. ‘Would you like a drink?’

      She seemed ridiculously glad he’d asked, making him realise the strain was on both sides, and he felt her follow him back into the house. ‘Do you have juice?’ she said.

      Even though she walked behind him he could pinpoint her position by how sensitive his skin was. It had never been like that before. Ever.

      This fey, amazing young woman, who had captured his imagination when he’d least expected it, might prove rather difficult to forget.

      ‘Your “shack” is impressive,’ she said in that warm and wonderful voice of hers, but there was a fragile brightness to hide her awareness of the loss of their closeness and he sighed with regret.

      Enough. Stop being self-indulgent, he mocked himself, and forced his voice to lightness. He’d give her a drink and send her on her way. ‘If you want to see something really impressive, come and see my refrigerator. It’s magnificent. What type of juice would you like?’

      She peered at the selection like a kid in an icecream parlour, and he enjoyed watching her while she hesitated.

      He couldn’t help the smile in his voice. ‘You could have two different juices if you really wanted.’

      Unconsciously his hand lifted to feel the warmth in her cheeks and she darted a startled look at him, embarrassed. So her pale skin still blushed easily. A natural redhead. God, her cheek was like silk under his fingers, just like the rest of her.

      ‘Mango juice, thanks,’ she said quickly. She took the bottle and turned away from him so that his hand fell.

      Ben sighed and closed the wall-sized chrome door, and leaned his forehead against the cold steel for a moment. What was he doing?

      Don’t touch her again, you idiot, he thought as he closed his eyes because he couldn’t bear to hurt someone again and his life was as complicated as ever.

      He had to tell her to go. That he’d be fine. That it would be better for her if she left. He opened his eyes and turned to face her.

      She wasn’t there. The room was empty and the juice stood unopened on the sea chest.

      He walked through to the veranda. She wasn’t there either, and he glanced down the stairs. The unmistakable sound of her vehicle door as it closed echoed the emptiness he hadn’t realised she’d leave behind. He’d always had that emptiness but it hadn’t mattered before. Could he be alone again?

      Suddenly he didn’t think he could.

      The diesel engine came to life and he had no control over his feet as they turned to the stairs. The next thing he knew he was beside her Jeep window.

      ‘Be with me,’ he said, and he saw the moment she began to think about accepting and he swore to himself he wouldn’t let her down. Please, don’t let me hurt her, he prayed, and he couldn’t believe that he’d dared to dream again.

      His fingers reached through the window of their own accord and turned the key. The engine died.

      Silence surrounded them, except for the waves on the shore and the gulls overhead…and the pounding in his heart.

      She looked at him with those glorious witch’s eyes of hers and he could feel himself drowning, which was ironic considering what the day had held.

      He held out his hand. ‘Come with me. Please.’

      She saw there in his eyes the quiet hope that made her wish to be as daring as he was, as positive as he was, that this wouldn’t end in futile regrets.

      Misty raised her hand towards his and then stopped.

      What was she doing? She knew what would happen if she went back into the house with him. She wanted it to happen but she needed to think sensibly about this. Safely and non-emotionally after one of the most emotional days she’d ever had. And realized she was terrified. This interlude would end. She longed to burn boats, jump off the cliff to uncertainty and yet they had barely talked. Just felt…and kissed.

      It was an impossible dream. They both had lives, and commitments, and uncertainties, and they’d met this once by the merest chance. She needed to leave before he imprinted himself further on her soul.

      She lifted her fingers to the ignition and the metal felt cold and hard as she turned the key. ‘I don’t think so. Take care, Ben.’ She glanced once more at his face and the expression suddenly stripped from his features as if someone had turned off a light.

      Right decision, she thought, and forced herself to drive away.

      Right decision, Ben thought. Sensible girl.

      She was gone and Ben lay alone in his big bed with just the scent of her skin on the pillow beside him and emptiness in his heart as he said goodbye. Sensible, sensible girl.

      The sound of a ringtone filled the room.

      His phone.

      His breath shuddered in his throat as he sat up, and he shook his head at the person on the other end. ‘I’ll come,’ he said into his phone.

      He looked out the window at the rolling ocean and his chin lifted. Impossible dream, he thought, uncannily echoing Misty as he shut his phone and reached for his shirt.