‘You’ll never find whatever the hell it is you’re looking for until you stop running, James. Do you even know what it is any more?’

Good question. What did he want? He’d got away from the sadness of his earlier life, but was he any happier? Didn’t he want to be happy? To be loved and feel needed? All the things he hadn’t had in his younger years.

But what if he stuffed up? It was easier to move on than risk his heart again.

‘It’s a good life,’ he said defensively, as his head roared with conflicting emotions.

‘Have you ever thought maybe there’s a flipside to your life that’s just as good?’

He’d more than thought it. He’d been living the flipside here in this cottage in Skye with her, and he liked it more than he cared to admit.

‘You shouldn’t let your past stuff up a shot at the future either,’ she continued. ‘So let’s start again. Let’s make our own family. Let me be your family.’

AMY ANDREWS has always loved writing, and still can’t quite believe that she gets to do it for a living. Creating wonderful heroines and gorgeous heroes and telling their stories is an amazing way to pass the day. Sometimes they don’t always act as she’d like them to, but then neither do her kids, so she’s kind of used to it. Amy lives in the very beautiful Samford Valley, with her husband and aforementioned children, along with six brown chooks and two black dogs. She loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a line at www.amyandrews.com.au

The Outback Doctor’s Surprise Bride
Amy Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sister-in-law Jeanette for reading all my books.

Thank you, your support means so much.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

DR JAMES REMINGTON flipped open his visor as he sped down the arrow-straight highway. He revelled in the power of the vintage Harley engine growling between his legs, the air on his cheeks and the way the softening light of the encroaching dusk blanketed the thick bush in its ghostly splendour.

He raised his face to the sky and let out a long joyous whoop, his gypsy heart singing. This was the life. The open road. The sun on your face. The wind at your back. Freedom. He felt a surge of pleasure rise in his chest as a familiar affinity with the environment enveloped him. He felt a part of the land.

A solitary road sign appeared in the distance, announcing Skye, his destination, was only five kilometres away. It loomed large and then was gone in the blink of an eye. He felt anticipation heighten his senses. On a deeper level an unwanted thought intruded. Maybe this time he’d find what he was looking for. A place to hang up his helmet. A place to call home.

He shook his head to quell the ridiculous childhood longing. The wind was on his face, he had freedom—why did he need roots? The township of Skye was just another outback stop in the many he’d made in the last few years. And after Skye there’d be another and then another until he reached the Cape and then he’d…figure out his next move then.

The road started to twist and turn a little as it wended its way through thick stands of gumtrees and heavy bush. James eased back on his speed as he leant into the curves, enjoying the zigzag of the powerful bike.

He rounded a bend and came face to face with his worst nightmare. His headlights caught the silhouettes of several cows meandering across the highway in the waning light. He had seconds to respond. He braked and swerved and in the split second before his bike slid out from underneath him and he was catapulted across the tar, James knew that, whatever happened next, it wasn’t going to be good.

Helen Franklin was annoyed. It was nine p.m. She’d been hanging around for a couple of hours, waiting for the locum doctor to arrive. Had he arrived? No. His bags had arrived by courier earlier but he was still a no-show. The casserole she’d cooked for him sat uneaten in the fridge.

She could be at the Drovers’ Arms, joining in the weekly trivia night. Her team was at the top of the table and she hated missing it. She’d tried phoning his mobile number the agency had furnished her with a few times but had had no response. Not that that necessarily meant anything. Mobile phone reception out here was dodgy at best between towns and only marginally better in them.

An uneasy feeling bunched the muscles at her neck and she hoped some catastrophe hadn’t befallen him. But as he was only two hours late she doubted she’d manage to convince anyone to send out a search party for him. No, she just had to wait and hope that he showed or at least rang in to explain.

He’d probably just changed his mind about coming to Skye and hadn’t bothered to tell anyone. Country towns were notoriously hard to attract medical staff to. She’d had a request in for a locum since Genevieve had announced her pregnancy and she was now thirty-six weeks gone.

Well, damn it all, she wasn’t going to hang around all night, waiting, when the new doctor couldn’t even be bothered to let her know of his delay. He’d better be here by the start of business tomorrow, though. Genevieve should have given up work a month ago. Her blood pressure was borderline and her ankles were starting to swell. She needed the break. She’d admitted only yesterday that she was completely exhausted by lunchtime most days.

Helen left a terse note on the dining-room table, gathered her stuff and left, pulling the door closed behind her. There was no need for a key. This was Skye. Nobody locked their doors. And when she saw him in the morning, she was going to give Dr James Remington a piece of her mind, and if that set the tone with her flatmate for the next four months then so be it.

James woke to birdsong and the first rays of sunlight stabbing at his closed lids. The pain in his right leg grabbed at him again and he gritted his teeth. He felt like hell. He’d had a fitful night’s sleep on the hard ground. He was hungry, his bladder was full and his mouth tasted as if an insect had crawled inside during the night and died there.

His broken leg throbbed unmercilessly despite the splint he’d managed to fashion from the branch of a tree. At least it was daylight now. His hopes of rescue had improved dramatically. He looked at his watch. He was now twelve hours past his ETA—surely someone would be worrying?

All he had to do was get himself to the roadside and hope that the highway to Skye was busier during the day than it had been during the long hours he’d lain in the dark. He’d only heard two vehicles all night. The bitumen was probably only a few metres or so away, but he knew just from the small amount of moving he’d done after the accident that with his broken leg, it was going to feel like a kilometre by the time he’d got there.

He’d decided against moving too far last night. Dusk had turned to darkness quickly and visibility had been a problem. The night was impossibly black out here, the bush incredibly thick. Through a mammoth effort he’d managed to drag himself over to his nearby bike. He hadn’t been able to see it and had had to rely on his sense of hearing, heading towards the sound of the still running engine.

Thirty minutes later he’d been sweating with effort and the excruciating pain of every bump jolting through his injured leg. He’d pulled his torch out of his bike’s tote bag and located some paltry first-aid supplies to help him with his leg. He’d had his swag and some water and with his mobile phone showing no reception, he’d known he was there till the morning.

As tempting as it had been to push himself, he had known it would be sensible to wait for daylight. Apart from his leg and some minor scratches, he’d escaped remarkably uninjured so the last thing he’d needed had been to reach the road and then be run over by an unsuspecting car. He was in black leathers and a black T-shirt. Even his hair was black. He had hardly been the most visible thing in the inky outback night.

James relieved himself with difficulty and with one final look back at his bike gritted his teeth and began the slow arduous crawl through the bush to the road.

Helen woke to the ringing phone just before six a.m. and was dismayed to find the spare bedroom not slept in and the note she’d left last night untouched on the table. She’d come home from the pub to an empty house but had hoped the missing locum had crept in during the night.

She answered the phone tersely, preparing to give James Remington a good lecture. But it was only Elsie and she spent ten minutes listening to the latest calamity before she was able to get off the phone. Damn it! James Remington had better have a good excuse for his tardiness.

A feeling of unease crept over her again and she quickly punched in the local policeman’s number.

His sleepy voice answered. ‘Sorry, Reg, it’s Helen. I know it’s early. I hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘It’s fine. What’s up?’

‘The new doctor still hasn’t shown. Have there been any accident reports?’

‘Not that I know of. Do you think something’s happened?’

‘Not sure.’

‘I’m sure he’s fine, Helen. Like I said last night, he’s probably just been delayed.’

‘Probably,’ she agreed, thinking dark thoughts about their new locum.

‘He’d have to be missing for at least twenty-four hours before we could mount an official investigation.’

‘I know.’

‘But if you’re worried I can start making some enquiries straight away. I can take the patrol car down the highway a bit.’

Helen pursed her lips, unsure. She knew Reg was probably right but she couldn’t shake a nagging sense of unease. ‘No, it’s OK. I’m off to Elsie’s now. Some of their stock broke through a fence last night and she’s all het up. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. I’ll ring later if I still haven’t heard from him.’

She rang off and looked around the empty house. You’d better be in a ditch or laid low by a severe illness, James Remington, because this is just plain rude.

James grunted as he inched himself slowly closer on his bottom. His movements were awkward, like a dyslexic crab. His arms were behind him, his left leg, bent at the knee, was used to push himself backward as his right leg slowly dragged against the ground as it followed.

The morning sun wasn’t even high in the sky yet and he was sweating profusely. Although his leathers contributed, it was pain that caused moisture to bead above his lip and on his forehead. Every movement was agony, his leg protesting the slightest advance. He’d have given anything for a painkiller.

At just about halfway there he lay back to rest for a moment, the road now in sight. A silver car flashed by and he raised his hand and yelled out in the vain hope that he was spotted. Of course, it was futile—he was still that little bit too far away to be detected.

But he was slightly cheered by the presence of traffic. All he had to do was get the rest of the way and wait for the next car to come along.

Helen left Elsie’s still distracted by their missing locum. The Desmond farm was on the outskirts of Skye and her little silver car knew the way intimately. Helen had lived with Elsie and her family on and off most of her life, permanently from the age of twelve after her mother’s death.

Her mother’s mental health had always been fragile, necessitating numerous hospital admissions, and her gypsy father, overwhelmed by his wife’s problems and gutted by her eventual demise, had been ill equipped to care for his daughter. He’d flitted in and out of Skye as the whim had taken him, leaving Elsie to raise her.

And she had, providing stability and a much-needed loving home despite the fact that she had also been raising Duncan and Rodney, her grandsons, after their father—Elsie’s son—and mother had been killed in a car accident. Duncan, who had stayed in Skye to run the farm, was the same age as Helen and they were still close.

At eighty, Elsie was a much-loved part of the family. She still lived at the homestead and now Duncan’s children were benefiting from Elsie’s love and eternal patience. Unfortunately in the last couple of years Elsie’s health had started to fail and things that once would never have bothered her now weighed on her mind.

More often than not, when she was in a state, it was Helen she phoned. Duncan was busy with the farm and Denise with the kids and Helen never minded. It was the least she could do for a woman who had helped her through some of the darkest times of her life.

She knew that half an hour of chit-chat and a good cup of tea soon put Elsie right. How often had Elsie taken the time to allay Helen’s own fears as she’d lain awake at night, scared about the future? Elsie’s hugs and calm, crackly voice had soothed her anxieties and had always loosened the knot that had seemed to be permanently present in her stomach. Easing the old woman’s own fears now was never a hardship.

Helen put thoughts of Elsie aside as she concentrated on the road. Her eyes scanned either side and checked the rear-view mirror frequently. Just in case.

James mopped at his face with his bandana. He was nearly there. So close. He could hear a car approaching from a good distance away and he tried to move the last few metres quickly. Pain tore through his leg and halted his desperate movements. He swore out loud as he realised by the sound of the rapidly approaching engine he wasn’t going to make it in time for this car.

In a final act of desperation he stuck up his arm and frantically waved the red bandana, even though he could tell the car had already passed. He lay back and bellowed in frustration.

Helen’s gaze flicked to her rear-view mirror. Her eyes caught a blur of movement. Something red. She took her foot off the accelerator. She didn’t know why. It was probably nothing. She searched the mirror again. Nothing. It was gone. But the same feeling of unease she’d had since last night was gnawing at her gut. The car had slowed right down and acting purely on instinct she pulled over and performed a quick U-turn.

She drove back slowly towards where she had seen the flicker of red. Her green eyes searched the side of the road. Nothing but red dirt and brown bush greeted her. She’d almost given up when she saw him. A figure lying just off the edge of the road.

‘Hell!’ She braked and sprang out of the car, giving the highway only a cursory glance as she crossed it to get to him.

James could see a woman’s legs as she strode towards him. She was in long baggy navy shorts that fell to just above her well-defined knees. They were nice legs. Tanned. Smooth. In fact, they were the best damn set of legs he’d ever seen. He’d never been so happy to see a set of legs ever in his life.

If he hadn’t been in so much pain he would have laughed. James Remington, gypsy loner, who prided himself on being beholden to no one, was so grateful to this set of legs he’d have traded his bike for them. He shut his eyes and rubbed his St Christopher medallion thankfully.

Helen threw herself down in the dirt beside him. Was this her locum? He looked younger than she’d expected. ‘Are you OK?’ she demanded, clutching at his jacket.

James opened his eyes and found himself staring into her worried green gaze. Her eyes looked like cool chips of jade. Amber flecks added a touch of heat. It was the only time a demanding woman hadn’t scared the hell out of him. In fact, had he not been practically incapacitated with pain, he would have kissed her.

‘I am now.’ He struggled to sit up.

‘No, don’t move,’ Helen said, pushing him back against the ground. ‘Are you James Remington?’ she asked as she ran her hands methodically over his body, searching for injuries. Her hands moved dispassionately through his thick wavy hair, feeling for any irregularities or head injuries. Down his neck. Along his collar bones to his shoulders.

He wasn’t surprised that she knew who he was. Maybe he should have been but the pain was all-encompassing. As her hands moved lower to feel his chest, push around his rib cage and palpate his abdomen he absently realised he would normally have cracked a joke by now. The pain was obviously altering his persona.

He was pretty suave with the ladies but he’d never had one become so intimately acquainted with his body so quickly. She had a nice face and a distracting prim ponytail that swished from side to side as she assessed his injuries.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said as her hands gripped his hip bones and she applied pressure down through them, glancing at him with a cocked eyebrow in a silent query. He shook his head.

‘We’ve been worried about you,’ she said. ‘What happened?’ Helen felt methodically down his left leg from groin to toes.

As her fingers brushed his inner thigh James felt his body react despite the pain in his other leg. ‘Came off my bike. Cows on the road.’ He grimaced.

‘Ah. Elsie’s,’ she said absently as she concentrated on his other leg, starting again in his right groin. ‘You been out here all night?’

‘Yup. Look, I’m fine,’ James said, batting her hand away. ‘It’s just my right leg. The tibia’s broken.’

Helen sat back on her haunches and surveyed the crude but effective splint. She didn’t want to disturb it if she didn’t have to. ‘Is it closed or open?’

‘Closed,’ he confirmed. He’d cut open his jeans to investigate the damage by torchlight last night.

‘Were you knocked out?’

‘No. Conscious the whole time.’

She nodded, grateful to discover that he didn’t appear to be too injured at all and trying not to dwell on the fact that their desperately needed locum was now totally useless to them. Helen made a mental note to get onto the agency as soon as she could to organise a replacement.

‘Well, we’d better get you to Skye. Do you think between us we can manage to get you into my car? It’ll be quicker than calling the ambulance.’

James ran assessing eyes over her. He doubted she’d be much help at all, there wasn’t much to her. But he was strong and at the moment he’d go with any option that got him to medical attention as fast as possible. ‘Sure.’

Helen nodded and left him to bring her car closer. She performed another U-turn and pulled it up as close to James as possible. She opened the back door.

‘You might as well lie along the back seat.’

Helen hoped she’d sounded more confident than she felt. Looking down at him, she wondered how they were going to manage it. There was a lot of him. He was a tall, beefy guy, his build evident despite his recumbent posture.

She remembered the things she had resolutely ignored during her assessment of him. The bulk of his chest, the span of his biceps and the thickness of his quads beneath her hands. He was all man. Still, his musculature had hinted that he took good care of himself. She hoped so. She hoped he was strong enough to lift his bulk because at a petite five two he dwarfed her.

James looked behind him and shuffled his bottom until he was lined up with the open door. ‘I can lift myself in if you can support my leg.’

Helen nodded. She knelt to position her hands beneath his splint. She felt him tense and glanced up at him. She noticed the blueness of his eyes for the first time. They were breathtaking. A magnificent turquoise fringed by long sooty lashes. Was it fair for a man to have such beautiful eyes?

She blinked. ‘Does it hurt?’

He nodded.

Even through his overnight growth of stubble she noticed the tautness around his mouth and realised what it was costing him to sit stoically.

‘It’s going to hurt more,’ she said softly, knowing there was no way they could accomplish the next manoeuvres without causing more pain.

He nodded again. ‘I know.’

‘We could wait for Tom. He carries morphine in the ambulance.’

He shook his head and she watched as his thick wavy hair with its occasional grey streaks bounced with the movement and fell across his forehead.

‘No. Let’s just get it over with.’

She nodded. ‘Ready?’

James placed his hands on the car behind him, bent his left leg again and pushed down through his triceps, lifting his bottom off the ground. A pain tore through his fracture site and he grunted and screwed up his face as he placed his rear in the footwell. He shut his eyes and bit his tongue to stop from groaning out loud at the agony seizing his leg.

‘You OK?’ Helen asked, supporting his leg gently as she noted the sweat beading his brow and his laboured breathing.

James nodded. He felt nausea wash through his system as the pain gnawed away unabated. He had to keep going. If he stopped now he’d never get himself in the car and the pain would kill him. He placed one hand up on the seat and repeated the movement again, lifting his buttocks onto the padded material.

James muttered an expletive and then looked at Helen with apologetic eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he panted.

Helen grinned. ‘Quite all right. I think a swear word is entirely appropriate, given the circumstances.’

‘Hardly appropriate in front of a lady.’ He grimaced.

Helen looked around her and threw a glance over her shoulder before turning back to face him. ‘No ladies here.’

He gave a hearty chuckle and then broke off as pain lanced through his leg and he clutched at the splint. ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ he groaned.

‘Whatever the doctor orders.’ She grinned.

She held his leg while he shuffled back in the seat and helped him manoeuvre into a position of comfort. Well, of less pain anyway. He dwarfed the back seat. It was impossible for him to recline. Instead, he sat in a semi-supported position, the door propping him up.

‘I have some cushions in the boot. Hang tight.’

James closed his eyes wearily feeling grittiness rub like sandpaper against his lids. Where the hell was he going to go?

Helen arranged two cushions around his fractured leg to try and support it better. She shut the door and moved around to the driver’s side, opening her door and flipping her seat out of the way.

‘Here, put this behind your shoulders. Might make the ride a little more comfortable.’

She levered him forwards and stuffed the cushion behind his back, fussing a little to get it just right. James caught a whiff of her perfume and opened his eyes. They were level with her chest and he could see the pink lace of her bra and the curve of her breast as she leaned over him to adjust the cushion.

He shut his eyes again in case she thought he was staring at her breasts, and her ponytail brushed lightly against his face. Her hair was nut brown and smelled like roses. It swished back and forth a few times, caressing his face, and after a night in the cold, dark bush it was strangely comforting. He wanted to wrap it around his fist and pull her closer.

‘All set?’ she asked.

James slowly opened his eyes. He nodded and smiled. She turned to go and he put a stilling hand on her shoulder. ‘Thank you. I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Helen. Helen Franklin.’

‘Ah. The nurse. That explains your tender touch.’

Helen stilled, suddenly mesmerised by his blue eyes. He was without a doubt the best-looking man she’d ever met. She’d not risked such thinking until now, but it was the inescapable truth.

‘Yeah, well, don’t count your chickens,’ she quipped, pulling away from his touch and resetting her seat. ‘We’ve got a few kilometres of potholed highway to travel first. I’m sure by the end of that you’ll have changed your mind.’

Helen buckled up and started the car.

‘Be gentle with me, Helen.’

Her eyes flew to the rear-view mirror and found his blue flirty gaze staring back at her. He was teasing her. Great. Not only sexy but flirty, too. Fortunately, she knew the type well. Her own father was a classic example. It was typical that not even a broken leg could stymie the natural urge men like James felt to flirt.

But there was a shadow in his eyes that she recognised, too. Something that haunted him. Maybe it was just the pain. But maybe, like her father, it was something deeper, older. Something that he’d carried around for many years. Something that made him wary. Something that made him guarded.

Something that made him…intriguing.

Something that was a big flashing neon sign to her and all women to stay the hell away. Charming and charismatic had their good points but there was always a down side. She’d seen enough to know that men like James Remington, like her father, wouldn’t be held back or held still.

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Hang tight.’

She let the tyres spin a few times as she skidded away.

They made it to the hospital ten minutes later and within half an hour James had been X-rayed and given a shot of morphine.

Helen checked her watch. If she didn’t go now she was going to be late for work. They were already one doctor down, necessitating the need for Genevieve to take a patient load when she was supposed to only be working two half-days to show James the ropes before commencing her maternity leave.

Helen worried about Skye’s only general practice and what they were going to do without a replacement for Genevieve as she gently drew back the curtain that had been pulled around his cubicle. James lay on the gurney, his eyes shut, his size taking up its entire length, his feet hanging over the end.

He was shirtless and her mouth dried as her gaze skimmed over the planes and angles of his smooth, tanned chest and abdomen. A silver chain hung around his neck, a dainty medallion hanging from it. It looked surprisingly manly and strangely erotic sitting against his broad bare flesh and her fingers itched to touch it.

A light smattering of hair around his flat nipples was tantalising and she followed a trail of hair that arrowed down from his belly button until the sheet cut the rest from her view.

He shifted a little and she looked away from his abdomen, feeling a jolt of guilt at such voyeurism. He smiled to himself and Helen watched as a dimple in his chin transformed his stubbled features from Greek God-like to pure wicked. He looked relaxed for the first time since she’d met him, no tense lines around his mouth or frown marring the gap between his eyebrows.

James was drifting through space, floating. It felt good and he almost sighed as pink lace and roses flitted through the fog in his head. He felt the swish of her hair against his face again, across his lips, and it was as if she’d stroked her hand down his stomach. He could feel himself reaching for her, hear himself murmur her name.

He jolted awake and grabbed the side rails of the gurney as the sensation of falling played tricks with his equilibrium. His foggy mind took a moment to focus and when it did he found himself staring across into green eyes.

‘Morphine dreaming?’ She smiled.

James had never had anything stronger than paracetamol in his life before so he supposed that was exactly what he’d been doing. ‘Strong stuff.’ He grimaced.

The floating sensation had been pleasant and the relief from the constant feeling that his leg was in a vice was most welcome, but the sense of not being fully in control of his body was disconcerting and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. He was always in control. He’d spent too many childhood years feeling helpless to be remotely comfortable with this drug-induced vulnerability.

‘I hear you copped a lucky break.’

James grinned at her joke despite the odd feeling of being outside his body. ‘Yes, simple fracture of the tibia, not displaced. Long leg cast for six weeks.’

‘You got off very easy.’

‘Indeed.’ James remembered the worst-case scenarios that had careened through his mind as he had been hurled into the bush and knew that he could just as easily be dead or very seriously injured. ‘How’s my bike?’

She rolled her eyes. Of course, he would be worrying about the machine. ‘Alf’s recovering it now.’

‘You don’t approve?’

She shrugged. She was a nurse. Orthopaedic wards were full of motorbike victims. ‘Mighty thin doors. No seat belts.’

He regarded her seriously, her no-nonsense ponytail swishing slightly as she spoke. Not a single hair had managed to escape. He grinned. ‘You need to live a little. Nothing like the wind on your face, whipping through your hair.’

Helen sucked in a quick breath as his smile made his impossibly handsome face even more so. It made him look every inch the freedom-loving highway gypsy he so obviously was. She understood the pull of the wind in your face—she’d often ridden on the back of her father’s bike over the years. But a life of chronic instability had left her with feet firmly planted on the ground.

‘I have to get to work. I’ll check back in on my lunch-break. Can I bring you anything?’

James shut his eyes as the room started to spin again. ‘Food. I’m starving.’

She laughed. ‘They do feed you here, you know.’

‘Hospital food,’ he groaned. ‘I want proper stuff.’

‘Like?’

James thought hard as the foggy feeling started to take control again. He allowed it to dictate his stomach’s needs. He rubbed his hand absently over his hungry belly. ‘Pie. Chips with gravy. And a beer.’

Helen laughed again and tried not to be distracted by the slipping of the sheet as his hand absently stroked his stomach. Pies were her favourite bakery item. ‘A pie and chips I can do. Don’t think morphine and beer are a good mix, though.’

James opened one eye. ‘Sister Helen Franklin, you are a spoilsport.’

‘Yeah, well, I also sign your cheques so be nice.’

He chuckled and, despite his efforts to fight it, a wave of fog drifted him back into the floating abyss. Being nice to Helen conjured up some very delectable images and with his last skerrick of good sense he hoped it was just the morphine. The feel of her hair in his face and her pink lace was already too interesting fodder for his narcotic-induced fantasies.

If he wasn’t careful she might become way more fascinating than was good for him. Helen Franklin looked like she was the kind of woman men stayed with. And James didn’t stay. He didn’t know how.

CHAPTER TWO

AT SIX o’clock Helen walked into the hospital to find James entertaining three nurses. It had been a shocker of a day. From Elsie and her cows, to finding James, to the news that another locum would be difficult to find. She wasn’t feeling particularly jovial.

‘Feeling better, I see,’ she said dryly.

Her colleagues greeted her warmly and then fluttered their hands at James, promising to catch him later. She frowned at the very married nurses and felt strangely irritated.

‘Thank God you’re here. Break me out, will you?’

He was sitting propped up in his bed, a black T-shirt thankfully covering his chest, his leg supported on a pillow. She shook her head. Did he think he could just snap his fingers and she’d jump to attention? ‘The med super wants to keep you overnight.’

James snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I broke my leg, that’s all.’

‘Jonathon’s just being cautious.’

‘I’m going stir crazy in here and this bed is frankly the worst thing I’ve ever lain on. The ground in the bush last night was softer than this.’

Helen laughed despite her irritation because it was true. The mattresses left a lot to be desired. ‘How’s the cast?’ she asked, moving to the end of the bed. ‘Wriggle your toes.’

James sighed and wriggled his toes for the hundredth time since he’d had the damn thing put on that morning.

Helen touched them lightly to assess their colour and warmth. ‘Do they—?’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘They don’t tingle. I don’t have pins and needles,’ he said testily. ‘They have perfectly normal sensation.’

Helen quirked an eyebrow. Good, now he was irritated, too. ‘So this is the doctors-make-the-worst-patients demonstration?’

‘I’d like a decent night’s sleep in a comfortable bed before starting work in the morning if it’s all the same to you.’

Helen’s hand stilled on his toes. ‘Work?’

‘Yes, work. You know, the reason why I’m in Skye in the first place?’

Helen became aware of her heart beating. She hardly dared to hope. ‘Oh…you still want to…take up the contract, then?’

James frowned. ‘Of course? Why? Are you withdrawing the offer?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ she said, absently stroking his toes peeking out from the end of the cast. ‘I just assumed…I mean I thought…you’d want to rest up until your leg was out of the cast.’

He snorted and tried not to be distracted by the light touch of her fingers on his toes and how strangely intimate it was. ‘It’s just a broken leg. I may not be as mobile as I’d like but I’m still capable of sitting in a chair and seeing patients. You do still require a doctor, don’t you?’

Helen couldn’t believe her luck. Her dark mood lightened. She smiled. ‘We most certainly do.’

‘Excellent. I’m your guy. Now,’ James said as he swung his leg down off the bed and reached for his crutches, ‘if you know where my luggage is, perhaps you could get me some clothes and the appropriate paperwork so I can get the hell out of here. I’d like to check on my bike.’

Helen watched him fit the crutches into his armpits, her hand now lying on the empty pillow.

‘It’s fine. I went and checked. Alf has it at the garage. He’s shut now. You can go visit tomorrow.’

‘It’ll be safe there?’

She smiled. ‘Of course. This is Skye.’ Although she did understand his reticence, his classic Harley must be worth a fortune.

He nodded. ‘I’ll call in on my lunch-hour tomorrow.’

‘There’s no need to start straight away,’ she protested. They could cope for a bit. ‘You should take a few days off, James, we’ll manage. Your leg should be elevated as much as possible initially.’

‘I’ll keep it up all tonight. I promise.’

He turned on the crutches to face her and she tried not to think about the unintended double meaning behind his words. But he was dressed only in his black T-shirt and a pair of black cotton boxer shorts that came to mid-thigh and left nothing to the imagination.

He looked like he could have modelled for them. He would have been perfect in a glossy magazine somewhere with his full pouting mouth and brooding dark looks. She could almost picture him clad only in his undies, his magnificent turquoise eyes making love to the camera. Maybe even straddling a gleaming chrome Harley. James Remington had clearly missed his calling.

She blinked and then swallowed. Hard. For goodness’ sake, she was a nurse, not some swooning teenager. She’d seen plenty of completely naked men. It made no sense to be affected by someone who was practically fully clothed. Hell, she’d seen more male skin exposed on a beach.

‘Right, then, I’ll bring you some clothes. Hang tight.’ And she fled from the room.

‘Hang tight’ seemed to be a favoured expression of hers. Again, as he looked down at his attire, he wondered just where the hell she imagined he would go in his underwear.

James was surprised to find on the way home that he would be living with the very capable Helen Franklin for the duration of his time in Skye. The agency had assured him accommodation was provided so the details hadn’t mattered at the time. For someone who’d spent a good part of his life between jobs camped out in a swag on the ground, any roof over his head was welcome.

But as she helped him out of the car and the smell of roses enveloped him again he felt a tug in his groin. The memory of her light touch on his toes earlier returned to him, as did the look she’d given him when he’d stood before her. The amber flecks in her eyes had glowed with warmth, hinting at passion, but she’d also looked a bit like a rabbit caught in headlights.

He could tell she was attracted to him. But he could also tell she didn’t want to be. A fact he understood perfectly. He was most definitely attracted to her. Who could resist being plucked out of the bush by pink lace and ponytails? But, like her, he didn’t want to be either.

He’d had his share of casual flings on his travels but always with women who’d known the score. Helen Franklin sent up a big red flag in his head. Warning bells were ringing loudly. Some women were best left alone—and she was one of them.

‘So this is it,’ Helen said, dumping her bag on the hall-stand and holding the door open for him. He brushed past her on the crutches and her breath hitched in her throat. ‘Your bags are in your room, through there.’

Helen pointed to one of the three bedrooms that ran off the main living area and tried not to blush at the memory of going through his bags to find the clothes he was now wearing. There had been a lot of boxers in his luggage and she felt as if she knew him more intimately than she’d ever known a complete stranger.

‘Kitchen through that door and dining room beside it.’ Helen could feel his gaze on her. ‘I have a casserole from last night I plan on heating up, if you’d like some.’

James nodded, his stomach growling at the suggestion. ‘Sounds good. I wouldn’t mind a shower first, though. I feel like half the bush is still clinging to me.’ He looked down at his leg and grimaced. ‘I guess a bath’s going to be easier.’

Helen nodded while desperately trying to not think about him in the bath. Naked. ‘Probably.’ Oh, God, he wasn’t going to need a hand, was he? ‘Will you be OK to…?’

James watched the play of emotions flick across her face and toyed with the idea of exaggerating his injury. ‘Why? Are you offering?’ he murmured.

Helen felt her cheeks grow hot just thinking about something that was second nature to her. Something that she had helped hundreds of patients with. Running a bath for him…helping him off with his clothes…supporting him as he lowered himself into the bath. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t his nursemaid but no words come out.

James chuckled. ‘It’s OK, Helen. I think you’ve already gone above and beyond the call of duty.’

She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Damn right,’ she said, and stalked into the kitchen, his hearty laughter following her.

An hour later Helen was starting to worry when the door to the bathroom was still closed. She hadn’t heard any pleas for help and she hoped he was just taking his time rather than stuck in the bath, unable to get out. She turned the volume on the television up to distract her from her steamy thoughts.

He joined her a few minutes later, hobbling on his crutches. He was wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his well-defined musculature and a pair of black boxer shorts. His dark wavy hair was damp and wet strings of it brushed the back of his neck. He smelled like soap and something else, some spicy fragrance that she knew was going to stick around long after he’d hit the road.

He was clean shaven and her fingers tingled with the urge to touch his smooth jaw.

‘Better?’ she asked him, hoping she sounded normal and that the husky strain in her voice was just her imagination. She’d known him for less than a day but already he made her acutely aware that she was a woman.

He nodded. ‘Heaps.’

James turned to sit on a lounge chair.

‘No, wait, hang on,’ she said, springing up from the couch she’d been sitting on. ‘You have the three-seater—that way you can put your leg up. I’ll sit there.’

James stopped and stared down at her. She was fussing around with cushions. She seemed nervous. Her ponytail swished with her movements and from his vantage point he could see the nip of her waist and the nape of her neck.

‘OK.’ He sat and put his leg up gratefully. It had started to throb again and he’d just taken two painkillers.

‘Hang tight. I’ll just nuke your casserole.’

Helen fled to the kitchen and leant heavily against the sink for a moment. What the hell was happening to her? She was acting as if she’d never seen a man before. OK, they didn’t really get men of his calibre in Skye. For God’s sake, there were only three unattached men under forty and not one of them looked like James. Locums who deigned to come to the bush usually only came in one flavour—fiftyish, balding and, more often than not, condescending.

But she was going to need to get a serious grip because she had to live with this man for four months and acting like a tongue-tied teenager every time she saw him less than fully dressed was going to get really embarrassing really quickly. So he redefined tall, dark and handsome. One thing was for sure. He’d get back on that bike in four months’ time and ride off into the sunset. And she was damned if he was going to ride off with her heart.

James looked up as she came back into the room carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled divine, and his stomach growled. He took the tray from her and was pleased to see she’d served him a hearty portion and also added a hunk of fresh grainy bread.

‘This smells amazing,’ he said as he ripped off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the thick, dark gravy.

Helen nodded. ‘It tastes pretty good, too.’

James mouth was salivating even before he could put the soaked bread into it. He shut his eyes and sighed as the meaty flavour hit his taste buds. He chewed and savoured it for a few moments before swallowing. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, it does.’

Helen resolutely turned her attention to the television and tried not to be turned on by the sounds of pleasure coming from his direction. Elsie had always said there was nothing more satisfying than filling a grown man’s belly. Helen had secretly thought that was kind of old-fashioned but being privy to James’s appreciation was strangely gratifying.

As James ate he watched his new housemate surreptitiously through his heavy fringe. She seemed engrossed in the television, sitting with her shapely legs crossed and her hands folded primly in her lap. She was quite petite and the big squishy leather chair seemed to envelop her.

She was still in her clothes from that morning, navy shorts which had ridden up to mid-thigh and a plain white cotton blouse. He assumed it was her uniform. Apart from the tantalising glimpse of her leg, it was kind of shapeless. If he hadn’t known about the pink lace beneath he would have even said it was boring.

‘So, what’s the story with this place?’ James asked as he mopped up the dregs of his bowl with the last piece of bread. ‘It looks quite old.’

Helen steeled herself to look at him and was grateful he was looking at the fancy ceiling cornices. ‘It’s a turn-of-the-century worker’s cottage that’s been added onto over the years. It’s been used as a residence for the Skye Medical Practice for about forty years since Dr Jones bought the property and built the original surgery at the front of the land.’

‘Did he live in it?’

Helen nodded. ‘Until it got too small for his growing family. He had seven children. And it’s been used ever since by successive doctors. Frank lived in it when he first came to Skye until they bought something bigger, so did Genevieve until she moved in with Don.’

‘Frank’s the boss?’

Helen nodded.

‘Has it ever been empty?’

‘Off and on.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

Since Duncan and Denise’s growing brood had made her realise it had been time to move on. They hadn’t asked her to go, had been horrified when she had suggested it, but she’d known it was the right thing to do. As welcome as they’d always made her, as much a part of the family as she’d always been, the facts were the facts. They’d needed an extra room and she was an adult.

It had been an odd time. She’d realised that she’d never had a place she could truly call her own. A place she’d felt like she’d belonged. That deep down, despite Elsie’s love and assurances, she’d always felt on the outside. Her mother was gone and her father was more comfortable with the open road than his own daughter.

She looked around, feeling suddenly depressed. Even this place wasn’t hers. ‘A couple of years.’

James heard a sadness shadowing her answer. He saw it reflected in her eyes. He recognised the look. Had seen it in his own eyes often enough. Beneath the surface Helen Franklin was as solitary as him. Looking for something to make her feel whole. Just like him.

He felt a strange connection to her and had a sudden urge to pull her close, and perhaps if he hadn’t been encumbered with a cast that seemed to weigh a ton he might have. She seemed so fragile suddenly, so different from the woman who had dragged him from the bush. ‘Is that how long you’ve lived in Skye?’

Helen laughed. ‘Goodness, no. I was born here.’

Of course. Everything about her screamed homey. From her casserole to her prim ponytail. She looked utterly at home in this cosy worker’s cottage in outback Queensland.

He felt a growl hum through his bloodstream as the affinity he’d felt dissolved with a rush of hormones. She wasn’t his type. In fact, she was the type he avoided like the plague.

‘Have you lived here all your life?’

Helen didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the word ‘all’. Obviously staying in one place was a fate worse than death for him. She looked at his beautiful face, into his turquoise gaze, and saw the restlessness there. The same restlessness she’d grown up seeing in her father’s eyes. He was a drifter. A gypsy.

‘Except for when I went to uni.’

James nodded his head absently. Definitely not his type. He preferred women who had lived life a bit. Travelled. In his experience they were much more open-minded. They knew the score and didn’t expect an engagement ring the second a man paid them a bit of attention.

‘You don’t approve.’

He shrugged. ‘Not at all. It’s just not for me. I’d feel too hemmed in.’

Heed his words, Helen, heed his words. But a part of her rebelled. The arrogance of the man to assume that because she was still living in the place she’d been born that she’d not done anything with her life. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being grounded. Doesn’t running away get tiresome?’

He chuckled at her candour. She didn’t look fragile any more. She looked angry. ‘I prefer to think of it as moving on.’

God, he sounded like her father. ‘I bet you do.’ He chuckled again and goose-bumps feathered her arm as if he’d stroked his finger down it. ‘So where are you moving on to from here?’

He shrugged. ‘Central Queensland somewhere. Wherever they need a locum. I haven’t seen much of the state and I want to make my way up to the Cape. It’s supposed to be spectacular.’

Helen had been up to Cape York with her father during a very memorable school holiday. It was spectacular. But stubbornness prevented her from sharing that thought. She wasn’t going to elaborate and spoil his image of her as a small-town, gone-nowhere girl.

‘Where are you from originally?’

‘Melbourne. But I haven’t lived there since I finished my studies.’

‘Let me guess. You’ve been travelling?’

James laughed. ‘Very good.’

‘Do you still have family in Melbourne?’

‘My mother.’

Helen noticed the way his smile slipped a little. It didn’t appear that they were close. ‘Your father?’

James sobered as he fingered the chain around his neck. ‘He died in my final year of uni.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Helen said quietly. She met his turquoise gaze and she could see regret and sorrow mingle.

He shrugged. ‘We weren’t really close.’

There were a few moments when neither of them spoke. The television murmuring in the background was the only noise. So James’s relationship with his parents had been as fraught as hers had been with her parents? She felt a moment of solidarity with him.

James stirred before the sympathy he saw in her gaze blindsided him to the facts. Helen Franklin was a woman who liked to be grounded. He’d avoided her type for years.

They were incompatible. He was just a little weakened from the pain that was starting to gnaw at his leg again and her terrific home cooking.

‘Still, I inherited his bike. I guess I have that to thank him for.’

That explained why he’d been so concerned about the machine. It wasn’t just because it was highly valuable, it obviously had sentimental value to him.

‘She’s a beautiful Harley,’ Helen commented. ‘Is it a ’60 or ’61?’

James regarded her for a moment. ‘You know something about bikes?’

Helen stifled the smile that sprang to her lips at his amazement. ‘I know a little.’

‘It’s a 1960.’

‘It seemed to survive the crash OK.’

He smiled. ‘An oldy but a goody.’

She grinned back at him. It was something her father would have said, his own classic Harley being his most prized possession. Looking at James, she could see why her mother had fallen for her father. The whole free-spirit thing was hard to resist. James’s handsome face was just as charming, just as charismatic as the man who had fathered her.

She blinked. ‘So…what…you just roam around the country, going from one locum job to the next?’

He nodded. ‘Pretty much.’

‘Sounds…interesting.’ Actually, she thought it sounded terrible. No continuity. No getting to know your patients or your colleagues or your neighbours. It sounded lonely.

‘Oh, it is. I love it. The bush is drastically under-serviced. There are so many practices crying out for locums. Too many GPs working themselves into the ground because they can’t take any time off. Much more than city practices. I really feel like I fill a need out here. And bush people are always so friendly and happy to see you.’

‘But don’t you ever long to stay in one place for a while? Really get to know people?’

He shrugged. ‘I prefer to spread myself around. Locums are in such high demand out here—’

‘Tell me about it,’ Helen interrupted.

He smiled. ‘I’d like to think I can help as many stressed out country GPs as I can rather than just a few for longer. And, anyway, it suits my itchy feet.’

She suspected James Remington could have done anything he’d put his mind to. He looked like a hot-shot surgeon at home breaking hearts all over a big city hospital yet he chose to lose himself in the outback. ‘Not a lot of money in it,’ she commented.

‘I do all right,’ he said dismissively. ‘General practice has its own rewards.’

As an only child growing up in a very unhappy household, James had never felt particularly wanted by either of his parents. Oh, he hadn’t been neglected or abused but he’d been left with the overwhelming feeling of being in the way. Being in the way of their happiness. They’d stayed together for him and had been miserable.

Being a GP, especially in the country, looking after every aspect of a patient’s health, had made him feel more wanted and needed than his parents ever had. Not just by his patients but by his colleagues and the different communities he’d serviced. And James knew through painful experience you couldn’t put a dollar value on that. Some rewards were greater than any riches.

Helen nodded. ‘I agree.’

They watched television for a while. Helen found her gaze drifting his way too frequently for her own liking. She yawned. ‘Think I’m going to turn in for the night.’ She stood and leaned over to take his tray, his spicy scent luring her closer.

‘Yes, I’m kind of done in myself.’

She straightened, pulling herself away. ‘See you in the morning.’

‘Night,’ he called after her retreating back.

James woke at two a.m. his leg throbbing relentlessly. He shifted around trying to get comfortable for fifteen minutes and gave up when no amount of position change eased the constant gnaw. He reached for his crutches and levered himself out of bed. He’d left his painkillers in the bathroom.

Quietly he navigated his way through the unfamiliar house to the bathroom. He didn’t want to switch on any lights in case he woke Helen. He didn’t know whether she was a light sleeper or not and the last thing he wanted to do was annoy her on their first night under the same roof.

He located the pills and swallowed two, washing them down with some tap water. The thought of trying to get back to sleep before the painkillers had worked their magic didn’t appeal so James decided to sit in the lounge, put the television on low and try and distract himself.

He picked his way gingerly through the lounge room, trying not to make too much noise or bang into any furniture. He felt for the couch as he balanced himself on his crutches and was grateful when he finally found the edge. But as he manoeuvred down into its squishy folds his crutches wobbled and one of them fell.

James made a grab for it but the sudden movement jarred through his fracture site. He cursed to himself as he clutched his leg, helpless to prevent the crutch from crashing down loudly on the coffee-table.

Helen sprang from her bed as the noise pulled her out of her sleep. James? Had he fallen? She dashed outside pushing her sleep-mussed hair out of her face.

She snapped on the light, flooding the lounge room in a fluorescent glow, putting her hand to her eyes at the sudden pain stabbing into her eyeballs. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

James squinted, too, the pain in his leg still gripping unbearably.

‘Are you OK?’ Helen asked, slowly removing her hand as her eyes adjusted.

He nodded. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

James’s eyes came open slowly and he wondered if the pain and the medication were making him delirious. Before him stood a very different Helen Franklin. Gone was the prim ponytail. Her hair was down, a deep rich brown tumbling in sleep-mussed disorder to her shoulders. It made him want to put his face into it, glide his fingers through it.

Gone was the shapeless uniform. She was wearing some kind of silky sleep shirt the colour of a fine merlot, which barely skimmed the tops of her thighs and clung in interesting places. It left him in no doubt that her pert breasts were no longer encased in pink lace. In any lace at all. He could see the jut of her hip and the curve of her waist and a whole lot of leg.

A sudden image of her riding on the back of his Harley dressed as she was right now, her breasts pushed against his back, stormed his mind and he was rendered temporarily mute. That medication he’d been given was powerful stuff!

‘Oh, no!’

James roused himself at her plaintive cry and tracked her progress with eyes that seemed to be seeing in slow motion only. Her body moved interestingly beneath her silk shirt.

She was kneeling beside the coffee-table, gathering some broken glass from a photo frame, before he registered what had happened.

‘Oh, hell. Sorry. I didn’t realise I’d broken anything. I’ll replace it.’

Helen looked down at the broken glass that had framed a picture of her at fifteen and her father on his Harley. ‘It’s OK,’ she said dismissively, tracing his devil-may-care smile. ‘It’s just glass. I can replace it. I should remove my pictures anyway. I’ve been here by myself for so long I kind of took over.’

‘No, please, don’t.’ He placed a hand on hers. ‘I’m only here temporarily, it would be silly to put them away.’

Helen looked down at his big hand covering hers. Only temporary. Just like the guy in the photo.

James removed his hand and watched the way she touched the picture with a strange kind of loving reverence. ‘Your dad?’

Helen nodded, still staring down at the photo.

‘Is he…?’

She glanced up at him as he trailed off. His hair was sleep-tousled, his wavy fringe flopping across his forehead, and she was pleased that the coffee-table was between them. ‘No. He’s very much alive and roaming some highway somewhere.’

He saw the love in her eyes as she gazed at the picture but heard the bitter note in her voice. Obviously her father aroused intense emotions. It also explained how she knew about Harleys. And maybe it even explained her desire to stay grounded.

‘Anyway,’ she said, becoming aware of his intense gaze and the building silence and belatedly the fact that she was in her pajamas, ‘are you going to be OK?’

He nodded. ‘I’m just going to watch some telly until the painkillers start to take effect.’

Helen rose and backed away, still clutching the frame. She was suddenly acutely aware of her state of undress. How bare her thighs were. How braless she was. How her shirt barely covered her rear. How…interested he seemed.

‘See you in the morning.’ She took a deep breath and turned at the last moment, praying that he wasn’t watching her.

But he was. James caught a brief glimpse of firm cheek as the shirt flared when she whipped around. And leg. A lot of leg. Suddenly his time in Skye had become very interesting indeed.

He was living with someone who was as sexy as hell underneath her ponytailed primness and knew about Harleys.

Suddenly she seemed more and more his type.

CHAPTER THREE

HELEN didn’t dare come out into the main part of the house until she was dressed the next morning. She’d lain awake for an hour, thinking about James’s heated gaze and how liquid heat had pooled low in her belly. She knew that even after a day in his company she was treading on dangerous ground.

She was attracted to him. Not such a bad thing to admit to, she supposed, except for the fact that he was way out of her league. The regular attentions of Skye’s bachelors paled into comparison with one hot look from James. She’d do well to remember he was only there for four months and she’d never had a casual relationship in her life.

When she was dressed she made her way out to the lounge room to find James fast asleep where she’d left him. She stopped in mid-stride and almost tripped. The man was utterly gorgeous. A dark shadow adorned his jaw and his broad chest rose and fell in hypnotic splendour. His jet-black hair lay thick and luscious across his forehead.

His leg was raised on some cushions. His other leg positively exuded testosterone, its well-defined quadriceps and calf muscles complemented by a perfect covering of dark hair. His large bare foot seemed oddly out of place with his sexy he-man image, made him seem vulnerable somehow, and the nurturer in her wanted to go get a blanket and cover him up.

She gave herself a mental shake and ordered herself to stop gawking like a teenager. She turned away and headed for the kitchen. Damn him for lying around her house, looking sexy and vulnerable all at once. She got two slices of bread and jammed them into the toaster. She pushed the lever down harder than required and hoped he had almighty backache this morning. If she had to trip over his barely covered body every morning, it was going to be a long four months!

James awoke slowly. He could hear music and noises coming from the kitchen and the mouthwatering aroma of toast teased his nostrils. He grimaced as he sat up and rubbed the crick in his neck. There was a slight ache in his leg but it was feeling much better than it had last night when his midnight wanderings had disturbed Helen.

A vision of her in her sleep shirt played in his mind again and he smiled to himself. Maybe it had been the medication, maybe it had been seeing a scantily clad Helen in the middle of the night, but something had fuelled some fairly erotic dreams and he felt his loins heat as he recalled the images.

He rose awkwardly, using his crutches for support. He needed a shower. A cold one. But given how logistically impossible that would be, he’d settle for coffee instead. He hoped Helen owned some decent stuff, not some horrible instant brand.

Even on the road he made sure he carried a supply of freshly ground coffee. Life was too short to drink the instant stuff. In fact, that was pretty much his motto for life. Life was short, grab it by the horns and ride it for all it was worth. He’d grown up seeing his parents waste their lives stuck in a situation they hadn’t wanted to be in, and he was damned if he would.

He drank good coffee. He went where he wanted. He followed his own rules. He worked wherever the road took him and kept his relationships short and sweet. And even if his heart did occasionally yearn for something more, he hadn’t been in a place yet or met a woman yet who could ground him. In fact, he seriously doubted either existed.

He swung into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. Helen was standing at the sink, her back to him, eating toast as she bopped along to a country song playing on the radio. Her head was moving to the beat, her hips were swaying and her feet tapping.

He leant heavily on his crutches for support. She was back in her uniform again, her hair tied back in its prim ponytail, not a hair out of place. But it didn’t stop the leap of interest in his groin or a pang of something he couldn’t quite name hitting him in the chest. He knew she probably had some lacy concoction on under that prim white blouse, knew the contours of her hips from the cling of fabric last night, knew that her bottom cheeks were cute and perky as hell.

She could be the one. James clutched the handles of the crutches harder as the insidious voice invaded his head. Preposterous! Yes, he fancied her. He was a man, for crying out loud, and she was a very attractive woman. But that was it.

For God’s sake, he’d only known her for a day. OK, it had been a tumultuous day. She had, after all, rescued him and his broken leg from the bush, but there was no need to let his imagination get carried away.

The funny feeling he’d got in his chest when he’d looked at her just now was easily explained. It was lust. The tantalising stirrings of sexual attraction. The allure of possibility. And that was all. He was a thirty-five-year-old man. He was in charge of his life—not his hormones.

He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t suppose you have any decent coffee in this neck of the woods?’

Helen jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach. She turned. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ she said accusingly, talking around her last mouthful of toast.

He grinned. ‘Sorry. I was enjoying the show, though.’

Helen swallowed the remnants of her breakfast. How long had he been standing there? She straightened and gave him a don’t-mess-with-me look. ‘Show’s over.’

He shrugged. ‘I prefer rock music anyway. Does the local radio station play any of that?’

‘Sure. Country rock.’

James chuckled. ‘About that coffee?’

Helen pointed to the percolator sitting on the bench and the expensive coffee-jar sitting beside it.

James eyes lit up at the unexpected sight of his favourite Italian blend. Helen Franklin may live in outback Queensland but she obviously had style. ‘Ah, a woman who appreciates fine coffee.’

Helen shrugged. ‘Life’s too short to drink bad coffee.’

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