Reunited With Her Parisian Surgeon. Annie O'Neil
index finger “—when it comes to work. He is a first-class paramedic. Claims he always wanted to be a paratrooper, but the eye thing made that dream die real quick—so he became another kind of para. Paramedic,” she added, in case he hadn’t caught the shortened term. Something the Australians seemed to do a lot of.
“And you two are...?” Raphael moved a finger between Maggie and the space Marcus had just occupied. “Were you a couple?”
He caught himself holding his breath as he waited for an answer. Was he hoping she would say no?
“Pah!” Maggie barked, her eyes almost tearing up as she laughed at the suggestion. “You have got to be kidding me!”
Just as quickly she recovered, throwing an anxious look towards the tea room.
“I mean, he’s a lovely bloke, and will definitely make someone incredibly happy, but he’s not...” Her eyes flicked to his so quickly there was no time to catch her expression. “He’s a really good bloke. I’m lucky to know him. He’s taught me loads.”
Loyalty.
That was the warmth he heard in her voice. And it was a reminder of why he’d come to Sydney. She was loyal. She hadn’t even questioned why he was here. Just helped in every way she could.
He swallowed. She didn’t know the whole story.
He turned at the sound of Maggie snapping her fingers together before displaying a clear plastic bag of kit as if she were a game show hostess.
“Right. Back to work. So, we call these nifty little numbers the Advanced Airway Management Sets—or AAMS if you’re in a hurry.”
“Très bien. It all looks very familiar.” He nodded, aware that his attention was divided.
Again and again his eyes were drawn to the fabric of Maggie’s dark blue overalls tightening against her curves as she leant into the truck to replace the kit and then, by turns, pointed out the defibrillator, the suction kit, the spinal collars, spine board, inflatable splints, drugs, sphygmomanometers, pulse oximeters and on and on.
In her regulation jumpsuit she looked like an action heroine who donned a form-fitting uniform before bravely—and successfully—battling intergalactic creatures for the greater good of the universe.
Her fiery hair had been pulled into submission with a thick fishtail plait. Her green eyes shone brightly against surprisingly creamy skin. Ample use of sunblock, he supposed. An essential in Sydney’s virtually non-stop “holiday” weather.
Instantly his thoughts blackened. As if he’d come here for some R&R after a year and a half of trying to put some good back into the world.
“All you do is take.”
There was no coming back from the death of a man’s only child.
He scrubbed his hand along his neck, still hearing the heavy church bells ringing out their somber tones on the day they had laid Amalie to rest. Amalie’s funeral was the last time he’d seen Jean-Luc and the rest of the Couttards.
It was the first time they had fought. The last time they had had any contact.
“You took from my parents and now you’ve taken my daughter. No more!”
He opened his eyes to see Maggie waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello? All right in there? Time to jump in. We’ve been called out. Twenty-five-year-old mother, imminent birth. We’re about seven minutes out. Wheels up, mate!”
* * *
Five minutes into the ride, Maggie’s internal conversation was still running on a loop.
Mate?
What was it with her and calling Raphael mate? Almost as bad as Cyclops and Stevo calling him Frenchie.
Grr... Instead of bringing out that Parisian butterfly she knew lay dormant somewhere within her, Raphael’s appearance was turbo-charging the country girl she’d tried to leave behind in Broken Hill.
Then again, maybe he didn’t care what she did one way or the other. It was difficult to gauge exactly what was behind that near-neutral expression of his. Chances were pretty high that he hadn’t stayed up half the night reliving their near-miss kiss. How mortifying. She hoped her feelings weren’t as transparent as she feared.
Pretending to check for oncoming traffic, she gave Raphael a quick glance.
Still gorgeous. Still impossible to read.
But it went deeper than that. He didn’t seem present. And that was something he had always been—here, engaged.
Could a person change so much that they lost the essence of who they were?
She swallowed the lump of contrition rising in her throat. She had. She’d changed a lot since her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed days.
She glanced across again, unsurprised to find his expression stoically unchanged. Not that she could see his eyes beneath the aviator glasses he’d slipped on once they’d strapped in for the blue lights ride.
“You sure you’re all right?” She moved her elbow as if to prod him. The gesture was pointless as she was strapped into her seatbelt.
A curt nod was her response.
“This isn’t the first run you’ve had since you left France, is it?”
“No.” His gaze remained steadfastly glued on the road ahead of them.
Okay. Guess we’re not feeling very chatty today.
Not fair, Maggie. The man’s got a lot on his plate today. New country. New language. New job. Old friend...
An old friend she was having to get to know all over again.
The old Raphael would’ve been laughing and joking right this very second—teasing her about her driving, or about the fact that she couldn’t help making her own sound effect along with the sirens and each switch she flicked. He’d maybe even have started quizzing her about why her career had gone to the blue lights instead of the blue robes of the surgical ward.
Not a freaking peep.
When she’d told him to jump into the ambulance they’d done one of those comedic dances, with one person trying to get past the other, that had ended up looking like really bad country jigging. It should have, at the very least, elicited a smile.
Not from Raphael.
Not a whisper as to what was going on with him. Why he was here. Why he had downgraded himself.
The only thing she could guess was that the man was trying to put as much space as he could between himself and some intensely painful memories.
“You know, if you want to talk or anything...”
He glanced across, his brows tugged together. “About the job? No, no. I’m fine.”
“Or about other things...” She pulled the ambulance around a tight corner, grimly satisfied to see his expression change from neutral to impressed, if only for a nanosecond.
Why wouldn’t he talk to her? They’d once told each other everything.
Everything except the fact that she was a born and bred country girl doing her best to believe it wasn’t above her station to dream of life as a surgeon in Paris.
Come to think of it, neither of them had talked about their home lives much. Just the futures they’d imagined for themselves. Her host family’s beautiful Parisian home had been the base for most of their adventures. And the rest of their time had been spent exploring. With a whole lot of studying on thick picnic rugs in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower thrown in for good measure. After they’d hit the books they would roll over onto their backs, gaze up at the huge steel structure and talk about their dreams for the future.
Raphael had achieved his goals in spades. Resident surgeon in a busy Parisian A&E department.