Wildfire Island Docs. Alison Roberts

want you to stay here tonight, Caro. The rabble-rousers—if it turns out to be more than one—will probably be too drunk to do anything other than sleep but in case they want more trouble, they certainly won’t go door to door in the hospital quarters in search of you.’

      She eased her hand out of his and stepped back.

      ‘No way. They could attack the house,’ she reminded him. ‘Not find me there, and become angry, burn the place. I can’t stay here, Keanu. I’ll get Bessie and Harold to stay there with me if you really believe there’s any danger.’

      She hesitated, and he sensed she wanted to say more.

      But she returned to gathering up the dishes, taking them to the kitchen, putting leftover food into the refrigerator—busywork while she avoided him in case he asked what was going on.

      ‘Aren’t you in charge over at the hospital?’ she asked when she’d finished cleaning. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here until the party is over, then track down Bessie and Harold to ask them about tonight.’

      Bessie and Harold, both well into their sixties, would be fine protection. He supposed if she was insistent about staying in the house, he’d have to stay there too, which, in fact, would be preferable to both of them staying here, her in the bed—he’d insist on that—and him on the couch, aware in every fibre of his being that she was there, so close.

      And how could he return to that bed when she’d departed?

      Wouldn’t he always feel her presence there? Smell the Caro scent of her on the sheets and pillowslip?

      ‘I’ll be over at the hospital,’ he said, knowing he had to get away from her before he was completely tied in knots. ‘Hettie’s very worried about the ulcer—worrying if we’ve misdiagnosed it as it seems to be getting worse, not better. You call when you’re going up to the house and I’ll walk you up.’

      For a moment he thought she’d argue, but instead she flipped him a snappy salute, said, ‘Yes, sir!’ and opened her notebook again.

      She wasn’t going to stop Keanu sleeping in the house—Caroline was only too aware of his stubbornness—but it would be better than having him sleeping in the big house somewhere far from her, rather than right next door, through partition walls that wouldn’t hold back the essence of him that seemed to fill her whenever he was near.

      Every time she closed her eyes she felt the kiss they’d shared in the graveyard—felt the longing in her body for them to have taken it further.

      But wasn’t it too soon?

      Of course it was.

      And he was married.

      Her senseless mental meandering led nowhere so she sighed, gathered up the books and was halfway up the hill before she remembered she was supposed to summon Keanu to guard her on her walk.

      But Bessie and Harold were there, arguing on the track not far from her, so she was safe.

      ‘We are staying at your place tonight and don’t you argue, missy.’

      She’d caught up with Bessie and Harold, and on this subject they were obviously united for Bessie spoke and Harold nodded his head very firmly.

      Harold and Bessie she could handle in the house.

      But Keanu?

      He came at nine.

      Bessie had made a salad to go with leftover pork from the feast, and she, Harold and Caroline had eaten it at the kitchen table, Bessie refusing to eat in the dining room.

      ‘Makes me too sad to see that lovely chandelier and think of your grandma polishing each crystal,’ she said, by way of explanation. And in truth Caroline felt much the same way—plus she still had papers spread across the table, and although it looked like a mess, she knew where to put her hand on every record there.

      She was sitting on the swing seat on the front veranda, watching the last flights of the seabirds—dark whirling shadows against the early evening sky, returning to their roosts on the island.

      They were a fairly good reflection of her thoughts at the moment—dark and whirling.

      The cause of her distraction appeared on the track below the house, striding resolutely up from the hospital accommodation, clad now in linen shorts and a dark green T-shirt—a man at home in his environment.

      And wasn’t she at home in hers?

      Of course she was and the shiver of whatever it was that had coursed through her body was probably only relief at seeing him.

      Except that she hadn’t been frightened by the loud voice and accusations earlier and she was reasonably sure that man and all the others would have drunk themselves stupid and collapsed into bed by now.

      ‘Evening,’ he said, touching a forefinger to an imaginary hat.

      ‘And good evening to you,’ Caroline replied. She could do this—she really could. All she had to do was completely divorce herself from all the manifestations of attraction that the wretched man was causing in her body.

      But when he sat down beside her on the swing, took her hand and began to push the swing gently back and forth with his foot, she lost what little resolve she’d managed to gather, rested her head on his shoulder and swung with him, just as they had so many times in the past.

      The moon rose majestically from the water, the birds had quietened and a peace she hadn’t felt for a long time spread through her veins.

      So even when Keanu turned to press a light kiss on her shoulder she barely reacted.

      That was if you could define a small electric shock as barely …

      ‘Nice here, isn’t it?’ he said, and although she’d swear neither of them had moved, their bodies were now touching from shoulder to hip and their clasped hands were in Keanu’s lap.

      Worse was the cloud that had wrapped around them, some unseen yet almost tangible blanket of desire.

      Or maybe he couldn’t feel it.

      Maybe it was just her.

      Being silly.

      Imagining things.

      ‘Not going away, is it, this attraction?’ he said quietly, and she knew it wasn’t imagination.

      ‘Not really,’ she answered, although the truth would have been not at all.

      He turned away from a fascination with the moon to look directly at her.

      ‘So, how do we tell?’

      ‘If it’s love?’ she asked, guessing his earlier experience of attraction had made it hard to use the word. ‘I wonder …’

      Although maybe she knew.

      Didn’t her heart beating faster when she caught a glimpse of him, or heard his voice or even thought of him suggest it had to be love?

      Was lying sleepless in her bed, her body wired, wanting …?

      Him!

      Was that love?

      Or was it old friendship mixed up with attraction?

      For a long time he didn’t speak, and she wondered if he’d been giving it the same thought she had but had come to a different conclusion.

      ‘So much has happened between us,’ he said quietly. ‘I let you down once before, Caroline, and please believe me when I say that it hurt me too. Then marrying. Not telling you. I let you down again. But now—now I’d cut off my hand if it would help you to forgive me.’

      Her heart was juddering in her chest, the beat every which way, while some kind of madness filled her mind—a madness begging her to take him to her bed, to rip off all his clothes and dispense with the agony that was attraction.

      With