Nine Months to Change His Life. Marion Lennox

womenfolk lighting candles against your return.’ She was still examining his leg. ‘I remember my dad singing that song, “Men must work and women must weep...and the harbour bar be moaning...”’ I bet you didn’t even have to work. I bet you did it just to prove you’re he-men.’

      It was so close to the truth he couldn’t answer. He and Jake, pushing the boundaries for as long as he could remember.

      ‘No...no womenfolk,’ he managed.

      ‘Except me,’ she said bitterly. ‘Lucky me. Was Jake with you? Could he be down on the beach as well?’

      And he knew, he just knew that, no matter how warm and safe this refuge was, if he said yes she’d be out there again, scouring the beach for drowned sailors. She’d passed out from exhaustion and yet she was ready to go again. This wasn’t a woman for weeping. This was a woman for doing.

      ‘No,’ he managed.

      ‘You got separated?’

      ‘We were well clear of the rest of the fleet, making a run for the Bay of Islands.’

      ‘Which is where you are.’

      ‘Great,’ he managed. ‘But I hadn’t planned on floating the last few miles.’

      ‘And Jake?’

      ‘They tried to take him off.’ He was having real trouble getting his voice to work. ‘The last run of the rescue chopper.’

      ‘Tried?’

      ‘They lowered a woman with a harness. The last I saw he was hanging on to the rescue rope off the chopper.’

      ‘Was he in the harness?’

      ‘Y-yes.’ Hell, it was hard to think. ‘They both were.’

      ‘Well, there you go, then,’ she said, in such a prosaic way that it broke through his terror. ‘So the last time you saw him he was being raised into a rescue chopper. I know those teams. They never lose their man. They’ll bring him all the way to Auckland dangling from his harness if they have to, and he’ll get the best view of the storm of anyone in the country. So now I can stop fretting about idiot Jake and focus on idiot Ben. Ben, I reckon your kneecap is dislocated, not broken.’

      ‘Dislocated?’ What did it matter? Broken, dislocated, if he had his druthers he’d have it removed. But there was an overriding shift in the lead around his heart. Jake was safe? What was it about her words that had him believing her?

      But she was now focused on his leg. ‘You’ve figured I’m a nurse?’ she demanded. ‘I spent two years in an orthopaedic ward and I think I recognise this injury. Given normal circumstances, I wouldn’t touch this with a barge pole. If it’s broken then I stand to do more damage. But we’re on the edge of a cyclone. The island you’ve been washed up on is the smallest and farthest out of the group and I have no radio reception. There’s no way we can get help, maybe for a couple of days. If I leave this much longer you might be facing permanent disability. So how do you feel about me trying to put it back?’

      He didn’t feel anything but his leg.

      ‘Ben, I’m asking for a bit more of that he-man courage,’ she said, her voice gentling. ‘Will you trust me to do this?’

      Did he trust her?

      His world was fuzzy with pain. He’d spent hours with the sea tossing him where it willed. He’d convinced himself Jake was dead.

      Right now this sprite had hauled him from the sea, almost killing herself in the process. She’d put him on something soft. She’d given him Jake back. Now she was offering to fix...

      ‘It’ll hurt more while I’m doing it,’ she said, and he thought, Okay, possibly not fix.

      ‘And if it’s broken I might do more damage—but, honestly, Ben, it does look dislocated.’

      And he heard her worry. For the first time he heard her fear.

      She was making a call, he thought, but she wasn’t sure. If his leg was broken, she could hurt him more.

      But her instincts said fix, and right now all he had in the world were her instincts.

      ‘Go for it.’

      ‘You won’t sue if you end up walking backwards?’

      ‘I’ll think of you every time I do.’

      She choked on laughter that sounded almost hysterical. Then she took a deep breath and he felt her settle.

      ‘Okay. I’m going to wedge pillows behind you so you’re half sitting and your hip is bent. That should loosen the quadriceps holding everything tight. Then I’m going to slowly straighten your knee, applying gentle pressure to the side of the kneecap until I can tease it back into place. I can’t do it fast, because force could make any broken bone worse, so you’ll just have to grit anything you have to grit while I work. Can you do that, Ben?’

      ‘If you can, I can,’ he said simply. ‘Do it.’

      * * *

      To say it was an uncomfortable few minutes was putting it mildly. There was nothing mild about what happened next. When finally Mary grunted in satisfaction he felt sick.

      ‘Don’t you dare vomit in my nice clean cave,’ she said, and her tremor revealed the strain he’d put her through. She was tucking the great soft quilt around him again. ‘Not now it’s over. I’ve done it, Ben. You can relax. If you promise not to vomit, I’ll give you some water.’

      ‘Whisky?’

      ‘And don’t we both need that? Sorry, my cellar doesn’t run to fancy. Water it is.’

      She held a bottle to his lips, and he hadn’t realised how thirsty he was. How much salt water had he swallowed?

      He tried a grunt of thanks that didn’t quite come off.

      ‘Stop now,’ he managed. ‘Rest...rest yourself.’

      He couldn’t say anything else. The blackness was waiting to receive him.

      * * *

      Rest? She’d love to but she daren’t. She was back in control.

      What had she been about, fainting? She’d never done such a thing. Probably if she had no one would have noticed, she conceded, but now, regaining consciousness sprawled on this man’s chest had scared her almost into fainting again.

      She had no intention of doing so. She was in control now, as she always was. To lose control was terrifying.

      So she hauled herself back into efficiency. She cleaned his face, noting the blood had come from a jagged scratch from his hairline to behind his ear. Not too deep. She washed it and applied antiseptic and he didn’t stir.

      He looked tough, she thought. Weathered. A true sailor? There were lines around his eyes that looked wrong. What was he, thirty-five or so? Those lines said he was older. Those lines said life had been tough.

      Who was he?

      What was she supposed to do with him?

      Nothing. Outside the wind was doing crazy things. The way the cave was facing, the sleet with the wind behind it seemed almost a veranda by itself. The ground swept down and away, which meant they were never going to be wet.

      So now it was like being in front of a television, with the entrance to the cave showing terror. Trees had been slashed over, bent almost double. The sea through the rain was a churning maelstrom.

      They’d only just made it in time, she thought. If this guy was still on the beach now...

      She shuddered and she couldn’t stop. She was so very cold. Her raincoat was in tatters and she was soaked.

      Heinz whined and crept close. She hugged him.

      Control, she told herself. Keep a hold of yourself.

      The