This couldn’t be Georgie.

Apart from her voice nothing about her was remotely familiar, and he barely recognised her. Gone was her short-cropped hair, and in its place a long, glossy, caramel-brown ponytail swept across her shoulders in a caress of curls. Her face, which had always seemed slightly too long for her, was now round and full. In fact all of her was round and full. A white sundress fell from decorative shoulder straps, flowing across voluptuous breasts before cascading over a high and round belly and swirling against the enticing tilt of her hips, a curvaceous behind and firm thighs. She seemed taller, more sure of herself, and a secret smile played about her lips as if she knew things that others could never understand.

A thundering wave of pure sexual energy rode off her, spinning him into its orbit and rolling him inside its core. His groin tightened as a wondrous hot bolt of anticipation and excitement pounded through him. A second later his brain caught up with his body, its reaction horrified and stunned.

This is Georgie. Georgie. We’re platonic. We made that decision years ago.

‘You—’ His voice cracked over the husky word and he cleared his throat. ‘You look good.’

Dear Reader

Christmas in Australia is a few days after the summer equinox, and it’s the start of a traditional two-week holiday. Families flock to the coast to camp, rent holiday houses, or to be spoiled in boutique hotels, and the ‘No Vacancy’ signs glow red until well into January. In my state of Victoria, the Bellarine Peninsula, with its fabulous wineries, gourmet cafés and restaurants and quiet bayside beaches, is a popular destination—as is the nearby Surf Coast on the Great Ocean Road. With its rugged coastline and the Otway rainforest behind it, it’s the perfect combination of forest and beach. If you want to holiday at either of these places you have to book a year in advance, as many families have been camping down there for sixty years or more.

It’s family time. It’s fun traditions—like decorating the tree, the annual beach cricket match, playing charades and board games, reading and teaching kids how to surf. Some people get really enthusiastic, and entire families enter the many ‘open water’ swims and beach runs, but no matter their energy levels everyone uses the time to kick back from routine and to recharge the batteries for another year ahead.

Despite being opposites, Hamish and Georgie have been best friends since university. They’ve been there for each other through good times and bad, so when Georgie asks Hamish one of the biggest favours a friend can ever ask he reluctantly agrees. He has one caveat: his family can never know.

Both Georgie and Hamish have totally different plans for Christmas, but the universe has a different idea again. Hamish finds himself living his worst nightmare. He’s in the heart of his extended family at Christmas, and Georgie and their secret are there too.

I hope you enjoy spending Christmas at Weeroona with the Pettigrew family. For pictures of the beautiful Bellarine Peninsula and Surf Coast head to my website at www.fionalowe.com. You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter.

Wishing all my readers a very Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with reading.

Fiona x

About the Author

Always an avid reader, FIONA LOWE decided to combine her love of romance with her interest in all things medical, so writing Medical Romance™ was an obvious choice! She lives in a seaside town in southern Australia, where she juggles writing, reading, working and raising two gorgeous sons with the support of her own real-life hero!

Recent books by the same author:

LETTING GO WITH DR RODRIGUEZ

SYDNEY HARBOUR HOSPITAL: TOM’S REDEMPTION*

CAREER GIRL IN THE COUNTRY

SINGLE DAD’S TRIPLE TROUBLE

THE MOST MAGICAL GIFT OF ALL

HER BROODING ITALIAN SURGEON

MIRACLE: TWIN BABIES

*Sydney Harbour Hospital

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

Newborn Baby For Christmas
Fiona Lowe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Joanne, with special thanks for all your help regarding the practical and legal issues surrounding AI.

CHAPTER ONE

Nine years ago

‘LONDON via Africa?’

Dr Georgina Lambert high-fived her best mate, Hamish, and stomped on the eddies of disappointment that threatened to churn her stomach. ‘That’s awesome news.’

They’d just finished a fabulous hour of surfing and she quickly unwrapped the bulging white paper parcel of fish and chips that sat between them on a beach towel. Better to do that than think about the fact Hamish would soon be leaving Australia. Leaving her.

Breathing in the addictive aroma of salt and fat to block out her sadness, she said, ‘I guess this means we’re all grown up now.’

Hamish grinned as he brushed his wet, sun-and-salt-bleached curls out of his twinkling cornflower-blue eyes. ‘Grown up? Never.’

And that was Hamish to a T. He was the Pied Piper of fun and good times and generous in his inclusion of all. From the moment she’d met him when he’d dragged her out of her college study at university and had taken her to his then girlfriend’s party, he’d been telling her she needed to ‘take chances and live a little.’ Numerous girlfriends, a hundred parties later, along with a tough and gruelling study load, they were best friends.

They had the sort of friendship that grew from sharing life-altering experiences. Both of them understood the fine line between life and death that most people outside medicine had no clue about.

They knew they could talk to each other about things that would instantly kill a conversation at a cocktail party, and yet they understood that sometimes silence and just being there was all that was required. They made each other laugh and there’d been the odd time when they’d even cried together.

Over the years they’d leaned on each other at different times and Georgina couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Returning his smile with an affectionate shake of her head, she said, ‘Come to think of it, growing up would be your worst nightmare, wouldn’t it?’

He laughed. ‘Absolutely. Fortunately, big brothers Ben and Caleb are doing all the responsible stuff, and that has to be enough for the Pettigrew parents.’

She raised a brow because despite his party-boy ways, Hamish was a talented and reliable doctor. ‘Not to mention six years of medical school, three years of internship and now a job in A and E at St Thomas’s, London.’

He popped the ring pull on his can of drink. ‘It’s given me some parent cred for sure, and thankfully Ben’s impending fatherhood has distracted them beautifully from the “when are you going to settle down?” question.’

Seagulls squawked around them, ever hopeful of getting some of the fish that nestled next to crisp and golden chips. She tore off a strip of white paper, wrapping it around the steaming-hot battered fish.

‘I didn’t know you were going to be an uncle.’ Deep down inside her the hope that one day she’d be a mother flared, as it always did at the mention of a baby. ‘London means you’ll miss the birth of your first nephew or niece.’

‘It’s no biggie. Caleb will take his uncle duties seriously enough for both of us.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll post the kid a Paddington Bear from London.’

And there it was—the reason they were best friends and not lovers. They both wanted vastly different things out of life. A vague sadness stirred—one that always moved inside her whenever she thought about the fact he didn’t want a family. Not that she thought everyone should have kids; she didn’t. She accepted people’s life choices, but Hamish had so much to give and he was really good with young patients.

Despite their close friendship and years of working together, and despite having tried a hundred different questions to try and find out why he was so adamant about staying single and not having children, she was no closer to knowing. She didn’t understand his stance at all.

But adamant he was. There was a certain universal irony that a man so easy on the eyes, so genetically perfect that women stopped and stared while their subconscious said, Good genes for baby making, wasn’t interested in becoming a father. Over the years, she’d watched as women had unwittingly flocked to him, investing too much of themselves too fast until it was too late. When Hamish dated a woman he was hers exclusively until the day he ended it, and ‘ending it’ happened frequently.

Perhaps because of his lack of commitment and the fact she wasn’t interested in short-term relationships, there’d always been this unspoken rule between them that nothing would ever jeopardise their friendship.

That and chemistry. Or to be precise, a lack of it on Hamish’s side, with the exception of one drunk moment that had stopped almost before it had started. He’d only ever treated her like a buddy and over the years she’d realised why. Every girlfriend he’d ever had was a certain body type—tall, willowy and perfect.

With her short waist, solid legs and wide hips, she was so far removed from willowy it was a joke. Although initially she may have hoped for more than friendship from him, she’d soon realised friendship was what they did best and she treasured it.

They were mates, at ease with each other and very well aware of each other’s foibles.

Munching in companionable silence, their hungry mouths devoured the wickedly wonderful salt- and fat-laden feast until all that was left was greasy paper.

Hamish wiped his mouth and asked, ‘What about you, Georgie? You and Jonas going to open a family practice with a white picket fence and have a team of rug rats?’

Her bruised and battered heart limped in her chest and she delayed her answer momentarily by taking a slug of her drink. ‘About me and Jonas …’

Hamish’s gaze scanned her face, his eyes full of worry. ‘What?’

This time she shrugged and tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Not happening.’

His hand shot out and pressed hers. ‘Hell, since when?’

‘Since last week. He’s going to Sydney to do orthopaedics and his change of plans includes changing girlfriends.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I never liked the bastard.’

She hiccoughed, appreciating his support. ‘You say that every time I get dumped.’

He squeezed her hand and let it go. ‘Yeah, well, that’s what friends are for and remember, there’ve been times when you’ve done the dumping.’

‘True, only this time I thought he was the one.’

He shook his head so hard that salt water sprayed her. ‘For God’s sake, Georgie, why do you always do this? You’re only twenty-six and you’ve got loads of time to land the guy who wants nothing more than to make babies with you.’

Only she wasn’t so sure. Unlike Hamish, she didn’t have prospective partners lining up around the block and she knew from experience she didn’t attract men from the first signal. She was more of a ‘personality’ girl than one with stunning good looks.

She thought about how he often talked about his brothers and their enthusiasm for settling down. ‘Ben and Caleb sound perfect. It’s a shame you don’t have another brother for me.’ She ate more chips. ‘Got any cousins?’

He shot her his cheeky trademark grin. ‘Only Richard, and he’s less likely to settle down than me.’

‘Wow, that’s really saying something,’ she teased.

‘Poor George. You met the wrong Pettigrew.’ His grin slowly transformed into something more serious. ‘Stop worrying about settling down and just get out there and live your life. If you’re still single at thirty-five then you’ve got something to stress about.’

An image from a movie she’d seen recently flipped into her head. She grinned. ‘Is this where we make a pact to marry each other at thirty-five if we’re both still single?’

‘God, no.’ A horrified expression ripped across his face, leaving her in no doubt about his feelings. ‘You know I don’t want any of that stuff. I want adventure, excitement, fun and good times. And surfing with you.’

She gave him a wry smile and stomped on the crazy sort of sadness that was still lingering from when he’d blithely thought nothing of missing the birth of his niece or nephew. ‘Surfing with me is going to be a bit tricky from London.’

Saying it made it real, and tears built behind her eyes. Her best friend, the one person who always championed her, was leaving to cross the world. ‘What am I going to do without you around the corner to whinge and moan to after a crappy day, laugh with, surf with and generally fail to solve the world’s problems with over wine?’

He leaned forward, his blue eyes filled with sincerity. ‘No matter where I am, if you need me, I’m only a phone call away.’

She took in a big, deep, breath and mustered a smile because, no matter how much she would miss him, she wanted him happy and she knew this adventure was what he wanted. ‘Same back atcha, mate. Go slay England.’

He gave her a wink. ‘That’s what I’m planning.’

One year ago

‘Okay, girl, here goes,’ Georgie muttered to herself as she stood on the veranda of Hamish’s beautifully restored California bungalow. The hot afternoon December sun beat in, heating the earthy brown and yellow mosaic tiles, which warmed the soles of her feet through thin sandals. Raising her index finger, she firmly pressed the recessed copper doorbell while her stomach sprang cartwheels. As the brisk ring faded away, her ears strained for familiar firm footsteps.

You should have texted him first.

She turned away from the door, wanting to run back to her car and take off at top speed.

Stop it. Surprising each other is what we do. Stick to the plan, it’s now or never.

She spun back, staring intently at the familiar art nouveau leadlight in the front door as if it was going to offer her peace of mind. She sucked in a deep breath.

The door swung open. ‘Georgie!’

His malt-whisky voice—filled with deep surprise and absolute delight—flowed smoothly around her. Before she could squeak out a ‘Hi’, Hamish stepped forward, wrapped his arms firmly around her in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground. Swinging her around easily, he did two complete turns before setting her down again.

Twinkling eyes stared down at her. ‘God, it’s good to see you.’

She caught her breath. ‘And you.’

He hugged her again. ‘Come in. Come in.’

He ushered her into the house, leading the way down a central corridor until they stood in the light and airy extension. He kept his gaze glued on her. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. I thought you were in Perth?’

Although they’d traded emails and texts, six months had flashed past since she’d last seen him and she found herself staring at him, not quite able to fill the well. His hair covered a little less of his forehead than it used to and a shorter style had taken out a lot of the curls. He had more laughter lines around his eyes but other than that he looked the same—tall, toned, sun kissed and radiating enthusiasm for life.

After five years in London and Africa—where she’d visited him twice—he’d returned to Australia and bought this house on a tree-lined street in Geelong. It was close to his beloved coast and only a couple of hours’ drive from his parents.

Not that he’d settled down. He spent at least three months of the year away with Giving Back, spearheading groups of doctors for the charity and working in developing countries.

He was very generous in his permanent offer for her to use the house for mini-breaks from Melbourne any time she wished. She’d envisaged using it often but at his housewarming party everything had changed when she’d met Luke. ‘Lovely Luke’, as all her friends called him, and she’d agreed, happily following him to Perth. The nickname had stuck right up until three months ago.

‘I’m back and working in Melbourne.’ She smiled at him, hoping he didn’t spot the tension that coiled through her like a preloaded spring. Her heart galloped like a racehorse and her stomach swished back and forth like a washing machine. It took everything she had to work at making herself sound normal—the absolute opposite of how she was feeling because everything hung on his answer to a question.

‘I thought you were in Peru until February. In fact, I didn’t believe Joel Goldsmith when he told me you were back.’

He grimaced. ‘Sorry, George, I know we usually let each other know when we’re in or out of the country but things have been a bit crazy. Dad had a myocardial infarction so I came home early.’

‘Oh, God.’ Georgie had only met Hamish’s parents a few times—at graduation, briefly in London and once at a charity dinner for Giving Back, but that didn’t lessen her concern. ‘Is he okay?’

Hamish nodded. ‘He was lucky. They were in town doing Christmas shopping and ordering supplies for the guesthouse when it happened, so he went straight to the hospital and they inserted a stent. He’s doing great. In fact, he’s fitter now than before it all happened.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ Georgie automatically swung round at the sound of footsteps.

A woman who looked to be in her early twenties, complete with bedroom eyes and a boyish figure which was barely covered by a skimpy bikini, appeared barefoot at the French doors. Absolutely nothing about her sagged or bulged—her youth guaranteeing everything held itself up on its own and stayed in its rightful place. She was perfect in every way and she’d probably never met a stretch mark or a full support bra, let alone sculpted underwear.

Georgie’s insides slumped and she suddenly felt all of her thirty-four years. This woman—

She’s a girl.

This girl was the ideal example of Hamish’s preferred type—everything perfectly proportioned and nothing over or undersized in any way.

Everything I’m not.

Over the years she’d got skilled at hiding the way each new girlfriend made her feel, so she tilted her head and raised her brows as if to say, Nothing’s changed, I see.

Hamish caught the look and winked. ‘Stephanie, this is my very good friend, Georgina.’

Although Hamish invariably shortened her name to Georgie or George, he always introduced her by her full name. It was at odds with his easygoing manner and she often wondered why he didn’t feel other people should treat her name with the same casual familiarity he always did.

‘Hi, Stephanie. Good to meet you.’ She gave her a friendly wave, similar to the ones she’d given to the many girlfriends of Hamish’s over the years. Girlfriends who’d once been of similar age but were now a lot younger.

Well, she was the grown-up in the room so she planned to be the one in charge. Keeping her gaze on Stephanie’s face, she said, ‘I just have some business to discuss with Hamish and then he’s all yours again. I promise I won’t keep him too long.’

Stephanie looked straight at Hamish, managing to combine equal amounts of a disappointed pout with a provocative glance that together said, I’m holding you to that. ‘I guess I’ll wait out by the pool, then.’

When Hamish didn’t disagree, Stephanie turned and disappeared from view.

‘We have business to discuss?’ Hamish’s furrowed brow matched the rest of his confused expression.

She bit her lip. This is it. This was the reason she’d come. The moment she’d been working towards for three long months. She’d expected to have more time, but everything had suddenly been brought forward by his early arrival home and her disquiet that he might disappear again just as quickly. As each year passed Hamish seemed to travel more and more with Giving Back.

I really could wait.

No, you can’t. Tick tock, tick tock. There’s no time like the present.

Gripping her bag close to her side, she heard the crackle of squished legal papers scrunching inside it. ‘Can we go into your office so we’re not interrupted?’

Hamish startled—his eyes suddenly wide and his face pinched. ‘Hell, George, what’s going on?’

Everything she wanted came down to this yet-to-be-had conversation—the one she’d practised in front of her cheval mirror so many times she could recite it in her sleep. She swallowed and hooked his gaze. ‘Do you remember just before you went to London, you said to me that that if I ever needed you, I just had to ask?’

Hamish’s blood chilled as his gut gave a sickening lurch. Georgie had never asked him for anything before and his brain shot straight to disaster. He covertly studied her, searching for the cachectic look of cancer.

Nothing.

She stood before him with her short-cropped brown hair mussed and looking as she always did—slightly dishevelled and as if she’d thrown on whatever clothes had landed at the end of her bed over the previous week.

A smooth expanse of olive skin broken only by the shimmering of a jewelled navel ring separated the top of a pair of baggy happy pants and a white embroidered blouse, which she’d tied under her breasts. Breasts he’d always admired despite the fact they were slightly too big for the rest of her body. Georgie always hated it that her body was wrongly proportioned and he knew she spent a lot of time at the gym trying to dominate it into submission, but without much success.

But all of that aside and taking into account her usual aura of general uncertainty about the world she lived in, she looked fit and healthy and not remotely sick.

The fact she wanted privacy scared him and he quickly ushered her through to the office, his mind racing, trying to preempt her question but coming up blank. ‘Of course I remember.’

‘Good.’ She chewed her thumbnail the way she always did when she was nervous.

His anxiety ratcheted up a few more notches as her eyes flickered with a myriad of emotions, but he could only recognise fear backed up by determination. Surely knowing had to be better than this agony. ‘Spit it out, George.’

Her shoulders squared and she shot him a tight smile that combined a flare of hope tied up with despair. ‘I want your sperm.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘EXCUSE me?’ Hamish tugged at his ear, certain he must have misheard.

‘I want a baby, Haim. I want you to be the father.’

His building anxiety exploded, sending his blood swooping to his feet and making his head spin. The crushing weight of unease pressed down so hard on his chest that it made breathing difficult. Of all the things he’d anticipated her asking, this wasn’t one of them.

He half fell onto his chair, sending it skating backwards. ‘What the …? Georgie, I don’t want to be a father.’

Her mouth flattened on one side. ‘I know you don’t and I’m not asking you to be one.’

He shook his head, trying to quieten the white noise so he could make sense of what she was saying. ‘You just said you want me to be the father of your baby.’

She wrung her hands. ‘I know. Sorry. This isn’t coming out right.’

‘Damn right it isn’t.’ His tight throat and dry mouth barely allowed words to be formed. ‘You and Luke should be having this conversation, not you and me.’

‘Luke’s in Perth. We split up three months ago.’ The words fell flat as her breasts rose and fell. ‘He doesn’t want to be a father.’

‘Neither do I,’ he heard himself yell.

She sat down and pulled her chair up to the desk so she was opposite him and she leaned in close. Yearning burned so brightly in her eyes that he squinted.

‘Although it’s a shock to you, Haim, I’ve had time to think about this and to argue out every single pro and con. This isn’t a whim. Please hear me out.’

Her entreaty penetrated his shock and a sigh rolled through him. What harm was there in listening?

Plenty.

But he couldn’t get past that desolate look in her eyes. ‘Shoot.’

She gave a brisk nod of thanks and sat back on her chair, all businesslike and professional. ‘It’s no secret that I’ve always wanted a family. Growing up an only child is … quiet. Lonely. When Mum and Dad died …’ She bit her lip and breathed in deeply. ‘Since they died two years ago, it’s like I have this empty space inside me, constantly reminding me I’m alone. I thought when Luke suggested we buy a house in Perth it meant we were moving forward as a couple into the future. A future with children, a family.’

Her voice wobbled for a moment. ‘But I was wrong. The moment I brought up the idea of children, Luke bolted and the relationship crashed and burned.’

Hamish totally related to the running but he wasn’t fool enough to say so. All he knew was that when a woman he was dating started pointing to strollers in the street, he was out the door faster than an athlete on steroids.

Georgie’s fingers drummed on the polished oak of his desk, her agitation palpable. ‘My biological clock isn’t just ticking, it’s on full scream continuous alarm. I’m running out of time. In three days I’m turning thirty-five,’ her voice cracked and rose. ‘Thirty-five, Hamish. The age you told me it was okay to panic.’

An accusatory finger pointed at him, bringing back his off-the-cuff comment from so long ago to haunt him like a tormented ghost. How easy it was to spout words—they evaporated long before the mark they left started to fade.

Her intensity had his heart pounding as tendrils of unease threatened to coalesce into fear. It was time to put perspective back into the conversation.

‘So all of this is because of your birthday?’ He tried a reassuring smile. ‘Come on, Georgie, you know I knew nothing at twenty-six. I was just talking through my hat and thirty-five was a random number I plucked out of the air to cheer you up at the time. You and I both know that thirty-five isn’t old.’

She jerked in her seat as if he’d just fired a bullet through her and her mouth hardened. ‘You remember Sue Lipton?’

Hamish nodded, wondering why someone they hadn’t seen in years was being brought into the conversation. ‘Sure, didn’t she do anaesthetics?’

‘Yes, and she married Ryan Spedding. They’re on the IVF programme.’ She pressed her forefinger of her right hand against the thumb of her left, numbering off. ‘So are Emily and Lewis Pearce, and Jessica James has been trying to get pregnant for eleven months.’

He rubbed his forehead as an ache started behind his eyes. ‘And you’re telling me this why?’

‘Because they’re our age and they’re having problems. You’re a doctor, Hamish, and you know that every single day that passes reduces my fertility just that little bit more. I don’t have any more time to waste. If I want a family of my own I have to get pregnant now.’

‘I know you’ve always loved the drama of life but now you need perspective.’ He heard his voice—the tone he used to soothe distressed patients. ‘You do have time to meet someone else.’

‘Stop and listen to yourself, Hamish.’ Her arm shot out for emphasis. ‘You’re the perfect example of the men out there running from commitment. I respect your choice but because you and so many other men are making it, we both know my chances of meeting someone who wants marriage and a family are not remotely good betting odds.’

She folded her hands in her lap as if she was searching for calmness, and when she spoke her voice was softer. ‘So I’m bypassing that step. I have a good job, I’m financially secure, sadly thanks to Mum and Dad’s deaths I can buy a house outright and I want a baby. I want my own family, Haim, and if I have to do it on my own then so be it.’

Her abject frustration and disillusionment bounced between them. He’d never wanted a child but Georgie had longed for one for almost as long as he’d known her. That fact didn’t lessen the reality that her request of him was too much to ask.

‘I get it. You want a kid and you’re skipping the relationship part to get one. So use an anonymous donor.’

She chewed her lip. ‘I could, but …’

Every part of him yelled, Stay firm, don’t ask, but she looked so forlorn that he heard himself saying, ‘But what?’

She leaned toward him again, her face earnest and bright and willing him to understand. ‘A donor’s bio of height, weight, eye, hair colour and job doesn’t tell me personality and that’s not reassuring. You’re my best friend and I know you, warts and all. Despite your love of a party, you’re great stock with a sturdy gene pool.’

‘You make me sound like a racehorse,’ he spluttered as effrontery swirled around the ego-warming compliment that she wanted her child to have his genes.

She shot him a wry smile. ‘You’re intelligent, healthy, giving and most importantly not a psychopath. I want my child to have the smarts to deal with life.’

He spun in the chair, trying to cache his thoughts so he could separate them from the abject terror that thundered through his veins at the thought of a child. ‘I’ve spent years making sure I didn’t create a little Hamish and now you want me to do it deliberately? Aren’t you worried you might be adding another male to the world who isn’t interested in playing happy families?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I might be adding a girl or perhaps a boy like your brothers or a throwback to your dad. As a father of three sons he obviously had no concerns about being a father.’

Four sons. But he didn’t correct her because he’d never told her about Aaron. Once he’d left his home town of Jindi River to go to university, he’d never mentioned his beloved younger brother to anyone—not even Georgie. It was so much easier that way.

She unzipped her massive handbag and pulled out some printed pages bound with green tape and laid them on the table between them. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about this, Hamish, and I want to reassure you that all I want is your sperm. Not you, not your time or your money. This will be my baby.’

A niggle of concern jabbed him under his ribs. ‘And when the kid asks about his father?’

Her mouth firmed with resolve. ‘I’ll tell him or her that I used a donor.’

He studied her closely, trying to work out if her words really matched her beliefs. ‘So, you don’t even expect me to be Uncle Hamish?’

She laughed—a spurt of disbelieving sound. ‘Do you even know how to be an uncle? I’m not sure your nephews know you very well, do they?’

He tried to feel insulted but failed because she was right. No matter how much he might want to argue with her on that point, the fact was he didn’t see his five nephews very often at all. They were good kids and he sent them birthday gifts and happily enjoyed their company at Christmas, but that was enough. He was the fun uncle and if he didn’t see much of them then he couldn’t let them down like he’d let down Aaron.

He couldn’t risk having his own child and repeating past mistakes.

He tried to head off this crazy request by going straight to the heart of the matter. ‘Georgie, something like this could ruin our friendship.’

Her straight-shooting gaze hooked him, filled with honesty. ‘It won’t. Another reason I’m asking you is because I know you don’t want a child.’

He had a moment of feeling like he was fighting quicksand. ‘I don’t understand how me not wanting a child makes you ask me.’

‘You’ll leave me in peace to raise him or her alone and do things my way. This is my baby, my new-start family.’

He stared at her as if she were a stranger. Georgie had always wanted the happy-ever-after and the white picket fence so very, very much that he couldn’t believe she was abandoning it completely. ‘Are you really sure you want to do this all on your own? You always said—’

‘That’s the past.’ Her plump lips compressed as her jaw tightened. ‘I want my own family again, to feel part of something. Connected.’

The quiver in her voice socked him straight in the heart. Supporting Georgie through the funeral of her parents had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He had relatives coming out of his ears but Georgie didn’t.

Her shoulders rose and fell. ‘Hey, I know it’s not perfect, but what in life is? The baby and I will be a team of two, and you know what? It’s okay because the flip side is that I get to make all the decisions. I have control and so there’s no risk of me and the baby being abandoned when a man decides yet again that I’m not enough for him.’

He saw the facts on her face and in the depths of her eyes matching up with her words. She was deadly serious. He knew she’d always liked to try and control things in her life and not take too many risks, but having a baby? Hell. He ran his hands through his hair. Having a baby was the biggest out-of-control step in life a person could take.

A long-ago image of Aaron on his bike and he himself screaming ‘Stop!’ rose in his head like a spectre—a haunting ghost who refused to be completely silenced. No matter how many years he’d worked as a doctor, saving lives, travelling to developing countries to help improve the lives of others, the pain of losing a brother had become as much a part of him as his own gristle and bone.

He tried to breathe but it was like trying to move his chest against circular bands of steel. He had to tell her he couldn’t do this and he would, the moment he could get the words out.

‘Haim, I realise I’ve shocked you and my request is totally out of the blue for you.’ She pushed the paperwork towards him and leaned in. ‘But for me it’s a long-held dream. A child will make my life more worthwhile and give me family again. I want a baby so badly that my arms and heart ache constantly.’

He was intimate with heartache and the throb of a faded despair that never fully went away. A baby would make him revisit a maelstrom of emotions and he refused to go there. ‘I’m sorry, Georgie … I don’t think I can help you.’

Her shoulders slumped for a moment and then her chocolate-brown eyes hooked his gaze, filled with everything they’d ever shared. ‘I’ve never asked you for anything, Hamish, and I never will again, but right now I’m asking you, my closest friend in the whole world, not to make a hasty decision, not to say yes or no. All I’m asking is that you think about it. Sleep on it and tell me tomorrow or in three days.’

‘It’s not going—’

‘It might. Time to think is always good. Please, Hamish. Take the papers, read them, write down all your questions and call me.’ She slid her hand over his, her expression filled with pleading. ‘We’ve always talked and shared everything.’

Not quite everything. He swallowed against a constricted throat. God, he hadn’t thought about Aaron in such a long time and today he was present in every sentence.

Tell her you can’t be a sperm donor. Tell her it’s an unequivocal no.

But her longing and despair swirled all around him, pulling at him in ways that made him hesitate.

‘Hamish?’

Her voice sounded small and uncertain, reminding him of the weeks after her parents had died, and he found himself saying, ‘I can’t promise you anything, George, except I’ll read the papers.’

‘Thank you.’ She rose to her feet and hugged him—her arms wrapping around him more tightly than usual.

Her breasts pressed against his chest and her fresh scent of summer flowers swirled around him, and for a split second his off-kilter world steadied. Then she stepped back and life went back to whatever could be called normal.

Hamish put a pouting Stephanie into a taxi and after a distracted goodbye kiss he headed back inside and poured himself a large glass of merlot. As he sat in his study and opened the legal document that Georgie had left him, he hoped he’d find the clause that would provide the perfect excuse for him to say an absolute and indisputable no to her request that he give her a baby.

God, he’d wanted to say no, but every time he’d tried, it had been like being in a fight and having two guys grab hold of his arms to prevent him from taking a swing. He’d opened his mouth but the look on her face when she’d talked about not having a family had stopped him dead. It shouldn’t have because this was as much about him as it was about her, and he knew exactly why he should say no.

He’d failed to keep Aaron safe, failed miserably at being a big brother, and wasn’t that the training ground for fatherhood? He couldn’t be responsible for a child.

So tell her that.

But that would involve telling her about his little brother, about the day that was etched into his mind like a tattoo. He wasn’t prepared to do that. He’d found a way to live with his guilt and resurrecting the past had no value at all. Besides, Georgie wasn’t asking him to be a hands-on father. She’d been very clear on that. He’d be a donor known only to her and with no connection to the baby other than his donated DNA.

Could he do that? He stared out the window. He knew men who prided themselves on being sperm donors and didn’t seem to give a moment’s thought to the fact that they were creating a child—a human being who one day might knock on their door, wanting to connect. Hell, he didn’t want that to happen. He wasn’t father material and he wasn’t letting another child down. He knew the catastrophic consequences of that.

He took a slug of wine, wishing Georgie had never asked him such a huge favour and yet he knew and understood exactly why she had.

What had started out all those years ago as him encouraging ‘the quiet girl’ at college to get involved had unexpectedly turned into a special friendship that had got them both through the tough life of being a med student, the fraught life of an intern and had survived both of them taking slightly different paths in medicine. Not to mention weathering their relationships with other people. Their bond was stronger than superglue and he’d stopped counting how often she’d randomly called him just at a time when he’d needed some support.

Georgie was the antithesis of him. He’d act first, think second. She’d weigh up the pros and cons, which was a great strategy for a doctor but not when it was a movie or a quick meal choice, but once she committed to something she gave it her all. He loved that about her. She’d put herself out of her comfort zone more than once, hiking the overland track in Tasmania with him and learning to surf. Throughout the years they’d always been there for each other, although up until now they’d never really tested the promise they’d made nine years ago.

No matter where I am, if you need me, I’m only a phone call away. He’d made that offer to her in good faith and believing in it utterly.

Son, never make a promise you don’t intend to keep.

He gave an ironic groan. He was pretty sure his father hadn’t been thinking about sharing genes when he’d hammered that lesson into him between the ages of five and twenty. Not even the thought of sex was enough to allay his anxiety. Not that he was against the idea of sex with Georgie. He’d never pursued it because their friendship had always come first and he’d never wanted to risk losing it, but, hell, he was male and there’d been times when he’d wondered what it would be like to bury his head in those amazing breasts. The night they’d graduated he’d got close and then common sense had made them both jump away from each other with an embarrassed laugh, both agreeing that it was a bad idea generated by too much champagne.

He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the rasp of stubble against his palms. If he applied logic to the problem and removed the emotions, it came down to a single fact. His best friend, a woman who would do anything for him, needed his help. Help he’d offered in the past. Help he was honour-bound to provide.

But where was the line drawn on the statute of reasonable friendship requests?

As much as he was concerned about the impact that him saying yes would have on their friendship, he was more worried about the impact of saying, no.

Georgie held her breath as she sat opposite Hamish in a quiet café overlooking the bay. It had been thirty hours since she’d asked him to be a sperm donor and she’d almost become obsessive compulsive in that time, constantly checking her phone. Last night as she’d sat curled up on the couch—there’d been no point going to bed because sleep had been beyond her—she’d lurched between He agreed to read the paperwork, which means he’s considering it and will say yes, and the more resounding, He’ll say no.

The fact he’d finally called her and said, ‘I need to ask you some questions,’ had fired hope into her, but it was now tinged with dread as she watched Hamish’s clear and steady gaze move over the printed words. Her heart bounced against her ribs and the sound echoed in her ears, deafening her.

Was it too much to ask of him?

Maybe. No. It had never occurred to her not to ask him. He was her best friend and it made total sense to her that he would be the sperm donor for her child. He had great genes, a caring nature and for reasons he’d never really elucidated, despite some gentle probing over the years, he didn’t want to be a father.

She, on the other hand, wanted a baby so much it hurt. She was an experienced doctor, enjoyed family medicine and had been told hundreds of times she was great with kids so she knew she could do this parenting gig on her own and not involve him at all. It was a win-win situation all round.

Hamish glanced up from the second page of the document with a familiar wicked gleam in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since she’d floored him with her request. ‘So, no sex?’

Her usually deep laugh sounded high-pitched and nervous.

She’d be lying to herself if she said she’d never fantasised about what sex would be like with Hamish. What woman wouldn’t when faced with six feet two of a toned, tanned and buff surfer-fit body? But that had been a long time ago and she’d never been one for casual sex, especially if it risked their friendship.

‘Sex is too random and this is too important to leave to chance. I want the back-up of science and technology to maximise my chances of getting pregnant quickly. I’ll have ultrasounds, and thirty-six hours before the intra-uterine insemination, I’ll jab myself with follicle-stimulating hormone.’

His shoulders squared as they tightened with apprehension and his expression became serious once again. ‘So I travel to the IVF clinic in Tasmania to make my deposits?’

‘Yup. They have movies and magazines.’ She tried to lighten his mood. ‘That’s the fun part for you.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Hardly, but we won’t go there. Why Tasmania?’

‘Privacy for both of us. The medical community here is too small and everyone knows everyone. Even if we went to Melbourne, we’d run into people from university. I’ll pay for your air fares and your time because I don’t want you embarrassed or compromised. I figured you could go down for a couple of weekends, enjoy a mini-break on the apple isle and bank a few deposits, so to speak.’

A grudging flash of admiration crossed his face. ‘You’ve really thought this through.’

She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months.’

Thinking, dreaming and planning.

He nodded slowly, his expression contemplative, and he returned to the document.

Time slowed down to a crawl and she wished she could dive inside his head and see and hear exactly what he was thinking. Instead, she had to sit and wait. She was so used to being in charge at work that it didn’t sit easily.

‘They’ll freeze the sperm?’

‘Yes.’

His gaze bored into her. ‘And if you don’t get pregnant from my donations, what then?’

She chewed on her lip. ‘Would you be prepared to donate more?’

A long sigh rumbled out of him. ‘To be honest, George, I’m not even certain I want to do it once.’

‘Oh.’ Her stomach sank as hope dribbled away. She now wished he’d just said no over the phone. She sat tracing the pool of condensation from her water that had dribbled down onto the tabletop.

Hamish leaned forward and stirred his coffee so hard that some splashed into the saucer. ‘I won’t have my name on the birth certificate,’ he muttered softly, ‘and I doubt you can get around that.’

His clipped words hammered her and she spoke quickly, leaping onto a spluttering kernel of hope, keen to allay his concerns. ‘You won’t be named. The one thing that Mum and Dad’s deaths has given me is financial security. When I add in my income, even though it will be reduced with part-time work, I won’t need to claim family assistance. That gives me a loophole to avoid naming the father and I promise that you won’t be named.’

‘What about us spending time together after the baby’s born?’

‘I …’ God, why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d emphasised that this baby was hers and only hers, and she believed that utterly. She shredded a paper napkin and tried to think, realising for the first time that a baby might change everything between them. ‘I understand what you’re saying. I guess I get a babysitter.’ A heavy feeling gathered in her chest and she rubbed her sternum.

He ran one hand across the back of his neck as if his appeal against a death sentence had just been squashed and then he finally closed the document. ‘If I do this, I have a rule.’

If.

A squeal of excitement bubbled up in her as she sensed she was unexpectedly close to getting what she wanted. ‘What is it?’

A seriously stern look entered his eyes, extinguishing the usual fun that mostly lived there. The only other times she’d seen him like this had been when he’d had to deliver bad news to patients or their relatives. The bubbles of excitement inside her burst, splattering trepidation from tip to toe.

‘Georgie, my parents must never find out. Ever.’

His words roared around her and she wasn’t totally certain she understood. ‘Your parents?’

He nodded stiffly. ‘They can’t know they have another grandchild. If they found out it would hurt them too much and I don’t want to inflict that sort of pain on them. They’d also descend on me and then you.’ His hand raked through his hair. ‘And I can’t be responsible for the consequences.’

Sheer relief made her laugh because this so wasn’t a problem. ‘Now who’s being overdramatic? Haim, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve met your family, what …?’ She did a mental count. ‘Three times, so this request is easily met. I’m in Melbourne and they’re in Jindi River so we’re hardly likely to run into each other. I’m making you a solemn promise that your parents will never find out about the baby.’ She stared into his eyes, willing him to say yes.

He raised his outback-blue eyes to hers, meeting them full on, and deep down inside her something lurched. Confused and unsettled, she dropped her gaze and crossed her legs over the discombobulating sensation that spun there. ‘You’re a sperm donor. Nothing more and nothing less.’

Only for some odd reason she wasn’t totally certain exactly who she was reassuring.

Silently, he picked up the pen she’d earlier placed on the table between them with a great deal of hope, and he drew off the lid very slowly. He pushed it onto the top of the pen before bringing the nib down towards the paper with an excruciating lack of speed, as if he still might stall and not sign.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

He paused with the pen a millimetre away from signing. ‘It’s a hell of thing to ask, George.’

‘I know.’

‘If a child is born from this, it’s totally your kid and nothing to do with me.’

‘Absolutely. It’s in the contract you’re about to sign.’

Tension shot through his square jaw. ‘If you do get pregnant, I don’t want blow-by-blow updates or ultrasound pictures. I’m nothing more than a three-time donor.’

Three times? She wanted to argue that, ask for more, but she knew better. She’d take what she could get. ‘I understand.’

‘I don’t want invitations to birthday parties either.’

‘You’re preaching to the converted.’ A tiny whisper of concern gained volume. ‘Haim, baby or no baby, we’re still going to be friends, right?’

‘I want to hope we can be.’ He scrawled his name across the document.

Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

Hamish didn’t meet her gaze or reply. Instead, he downed his coffee in one long gulp.

Georgie picked up the legal papers, hugging them tightly to her chest, and sent up a heartfelt wish. Today was the first day of the rest of her life.

CHAPTER THREE

December

GEORGIE hummed ‘Six White Boomers’, the Christmas song about kangaroos pulling Santa’s sleigh, and grinned. She’d been grinning almost non-stop for months, even during the five weeks when morning sickness had lasted all day, leaving her stomach inside out and the rest of her limp, like overcooked cabbage. During that time she’d existed almost exclusively on dry biscuits and ginger beer, and it would be a long time before she could face either of them again.

Even so, nothing could wipe the always-present smile off her face. She pressed her hand against her round belly, feeling a tiny foot under her palm, and pure delight made her laugh out loud. Despite the ultrasounds and her ever-increasing size, there were still moments when she couldn’t quite believe she was pregnant. It had taken three cycles and three trips to Tasmania before she’d been given the news she’d craved for so long, and from the moment the pregnancy test had shown a definitive blue line, she’d treasured every second.

When she’d read the positive pregnancy test her first instinct had her reaching for the phone to ring Hamish and tell him the good news. Halfway through dialling she’d remembered his words.

If a child is born from this, it’s totally your kid and nothing to do with me.

She’d abruptly dropped the phone. She couldn’t believe she’d even thought to ring him because she’d been as adamant as he that this was her baby and not his in any way. No, Hamish needed to find out about the baby the exact same way as her other friends and colleagues—with a photo text when the baby was born.

The baby kicked, as if reminding her that sending those announcements wouldn’t be too far away, and a fizz of excitement tingled through her. In a month’s time—give or take two weeks—she’d finally hold her baby in her arms and right now she was in full-on nesting mode. It had taken longer than she’d thought to find a house to buy that suited her and her lease on her apartment had expired just as settlement had been finalised last week.

In most instances this would have been perfect timing with no need to find interim accommodation, but the house needed some renovations. Now she was technically living in her new home but surrounded by high stacks of cardboard boxes and the buzz of builders, carpenters, plumbers and cabinetmakers dragging the kitchen, bathroom and laundry into the twenty-first century. Painters roamed the rest of the house with their once-white but now paint-splattered dropsheets, freshening up the walls of the solid 1950s house with its spacious, light-filled rooms and large, decorative cornices. It was chaotic.

She’d called in during her lunch-break to speak with the building supervisor, but when she’d arrived Dennis had been on the phone so she’d left him to it and was waiting in the dining room, which was the only room currently free of the renovation frenzy.

Pulling open a box, she plucked out a small tabletop Christmas tree and placed it on the dropsheet-covered chiffonier. She knew it was silly to unpack it, let alone put it on display, given the total mess that surrounded her, but she’d always loved Christmas. Growing up, her parents had made it such a magical time and she was looking forward to recreating that magic with her own child.

Despite feeling her parents’ deaths keenly at this time of year and missing them like mad, she still loved the season and it seemed disrespectful not to have at least one sign of Christmas. She knew they’d have wanted her to keep their traditions going.

‘Next year, Widget—’ she’d used the affectionate term she’d been calling the baby from the moment she’d known she was pregnant ‘—this house will groan with decorations and you’ll probably love the wrapping paper more than the presents.’

She desperately wanted to set up the nursery and she was actively practising patience while she waited for the decorators to finish. Meanwhile, the white cot and her amazing change table that would convert to a play table in the future were both still in their flat-pack state and her prize possession—her mother’s Amish rocking chair—was in the corner of the dining room with a dustcover over it, waiting to be housed.

Dennis had assured her that everything would come together in his promised time frame of two weeks, but given the chaos that didn’t seem to be abating at all she was having trouble imagining the house finished in time. Meanwhile, she was showering at the practice and for evening meals she was working her way through the many restaurants that were part of her local shopping strip at the bottom of the street.

The whirr of a circular saw and the rhythmic banging of a hammer added their sound to the blaring radio that the tradesmen always had playing, and Georgie decided that being at work was almost peaceful compared to this. Glancing at her watch, she realised her lunch-break was almost over and she hurried to find Dennis. As she entered the hall she heard a loud shout followed by an almighty crash and an emphatic stream of swearing.

Doubling back, she rushed towards the sound and arrived at the kitchen at the same moment as Dennis. He was swearing more loudly than his employees.

A white cloud of dust was settling around the young apprentice who lay sprawled and groaning on the floor surrounded by half of Georgie’s ceiling. He was on his side with one leg lying at an odd angle. She instinctively looked up as if she’d forgotten the ten-foot height and needed to calculate the drop. ‘Get my medical bag from my car. The silver four-wheel drive,’ she shouted to no one in particular. ‘My keys are on the hallstand seat.’

‘On it.’ One of the workmen hurriedly left the room, the loud thud of his workboots hitting the polished hall floorboards and reverberating back to her.

‘I promised your mother I’d look after you, Mitch,’ Dennis said, his face tinged with green. ‘She’s going to kill me.’

Clearing a space by swiping her foot back and forth through the debris, Georgie pulled her sundress over her legs for protection and knelt down next to the teenager.

‘Mitch? Who am I?’

His face was twisted in pain. ‘Sorry about your plaster, Dr Lambert.’

‘Right now I’m more worried about you. That was quite a fall.’ She looked at his pupils, which were thankfully the same size as each other. ‘Did you hit your head? Black out?’

‘I dunno. One minute I was on the beam and the next minute I was here.’

‘Can you open and close your eyes for me?’

He looked at her as if she was slightly deranged but did as he was told, and Georgie was pleased to see his pupils reacting to light. She picked up his wrist, feeling for his pulse, and he yelped in pain. ‘Sorry. You probably landed on this when you instinctively put it out to protect yourself. Sadly, we don’t land as well as cats.’

Mitch moaned. ‘Me hip’s killing me.’

Reaching out her hand, she took his carotid pulse and counted for ten seconds. It was fast but relatively steady and she hoped the speed was due to pain and not internal bleeding. Only time would tell. ‘Dennis, call an ambulance.’

The builder nodded, fishing his phone out of his overalls pocket and making the call.

Georgie examined Mitch’s legs, which were bloody from cuts and scratches. One ankle was swelling before her eyes and his leg was rotated outwards, which wasn’t a good sign. She added it to the growing list of injuries but possible fractures were the least of her concerns at the moment.

‘Mitch, I need you to listen very carefully to me and only move when I tell you.’

The fear of getting into trouble morphed into a fear of a different kind and his entire body stiffened. Suddenly he looked a lot younger than his seventeen years. ‘It hurts to move.’

‘Good,’ said Dennis. ‘You won’t be tempted to do any more stupid things.’

Despite the gruffly spoken words, Georgie could hear the worry and concern in the boss’s voice and he had plenty to worry about. A fall like the one Mitch had just sustained meant a strong possibility of fractured vertebrae and a compromised spinal cord, along with a host of other injuries. ‘Can you feel your fingers and toes?’

‘Yeah.’ He wiggled his fingers but flinched when he tried his toes. ‘Me right leg feels wrong.’

At least he could feel it.

‘Here’s your bag, Doc.’ Dennis knelt down opposite her and handed her the medical kit, which Greg, the carpenter, had just passed him.

‘Thanks,’ she called out to Greg. ‘I need towels and sheets, please. They’re in the linen press in the hall.’

‘Sure thing.’

As he left the room, Georgie pulled the green whistle out of her bag—the emergency analgesia that patients sucked on for pain relief. ‘Mitch, put this in your mouth and take deep breaths and it will help with the pain.’

The young man did as he was asked and Georgie started to assemble a cervical collar. ‘I’m going to put this around your neck for support and then Dennis and I are going to roll you onto your back like you’re a log. It might hurt.’

‘That don’t sound good.’ Mitch’s voice sounded small and scared.

‘Sorry, mate, but until I know exactly what damage you’ve done to yourself, we’re protecting your spine.’ She started measuring for the collar, using an imaginary line from the top of his shoulder to where the collar would rest and then another from the chin. Putting as many of her fingers that fitted into the space, she used them to measure the distance.

A moment later with a series of clicks and clacks she adjusted the collar, using the locks, until it was the correct size. ‘Dennis, I need you to hold Mitch’s head like this.’ She demonstrated.

‘Can do.’ Dennis’s usually loud and beefy voice quavered slightly and his face had stayed white tinged with green. Despite that, he did exactly as he was asked, using his burly hands—one on each side of Mitch’s cheeks—to keep his head in a neutral position.

Mitch wore a silver skull on a chain around his neck. ‘I have to take this off,’ she said, pulling back on the clasp, ‘but I promise it will be safe.’ She slipped it into her pocket and then slid the back portion of the collar behind his neck and folded the loop of Velcro inwards on top of the foam padding. After attaching it to the chinpiece, she tightened the collar, using the tracheal hole as the anchor point. Mitch’s chin protruded over the collar, which was a good sign.

‘Is it comfortable?’

‘Yes. My neck never hurt. Just everything else.’

She needed to examine him fully but she wasn’t prepared to do that until she’d protected his spinal cord. She patted his arm and said, ‘Take another couple of deep breaths on the green whistle.’

Greg had dropped onto the dusty floor two fluffy towels and her brand-new one-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets she’d bought to celebrate moving into her own home. Linen she’d not even used yet.

She silenced her moan of disappointment as she rolled a luxury towel and inserted it between Mitch’s knees to keep his legs apart and the head of both his femurs in their hip sockets. Using one sheet, she tied his ankles together and then wrapped another one around his hips. She’d stake her bottom dollar he’d fractured his pelvis and, with the close proximity of his bladder and bowel, that was a real concern. ‘How are you travelling, Mitch?’

His eyes fluttered close to closing. ‘This whistle’s good stuff.’

She gave a vote of thanks for Australian ingenuity and inventions and smiled, having heard similar stories from injured patients in the past. Mitch was going to need all the help it could give him.

Glancing up at Dennis, she said, ‘We need to move him very carefully. You hold his ankles and support his legs and, Greg, you put your hands on his hips and I’ll take care of his neck. On my count we’re going to roll him very slowly onto his back.’

She waited for the men to get into position. ‘Mitch, are you ready?’

‘I guess.’ He sounded hesitant and scared.

‘Right, fellas. One, two, three.’

Mitch slowly came onto his back, his body in alignment, and the moment they took their hands away he sucked down another deep draft on the whistle.

‘Great work, guys. Thanks.’ Georgie rechecked Mitch’s pulse and then took his blood pressure. Both were up. Was he bleeding?

She quickly primed an IV line by folding the plastic cord in half before breaking the solution seal and letting the fluid roll down without air bubbles. ‘Can someone go out and wave down the ambulance so they know which house?’

‘I’ll go,’ said Greg.

‘Dennis, cut off Mitch’s jeans, please.’ She tightened a tourniquet around Mitch’s upper arm and then flicked her fingers against his inner elbow. A vein rose up against her finger. ‘Just the prick of a needle,’ she said as she slid the cannula into place.

Mitch didn’t even flinch. As she connected up the IV, the baby kicked her hard under the ribs. She rechecked the teenager’s pulse, which was rapid, and took his blood pressure, which was low, and she ran the drip full bore. Where was the ambulance?

‘Mitch, sorry, but I need to examine your groin.’

Fortunately, the teenager was now drugged up enough not to be embarrassed and she checked for bruising and bleeding around the scrotum and inguinal area that were often associated with a fractured pelvis.

Voices sounded down the hall and she swivelled around, welcoming the ambulance officers. ‘Hi, guys. This is Mitch, aged seventeen, and he’s fallen ten feet. Suspected fractured pelvis, left femur, right wrist and treating as a spinal injury until proven otherwise. I’ve given him morphine, put up a saline drip and he’s stable, but I’m worried about a slow internal bleed.’

‘Thanks, Doc, we can take it from here.’ The older ambulance officer put the spinal board on the floor next to Mitch and started to connect the teenager up to the portable monitor.

‘Mitch, I’ll call your mum and swing by the hospital later to see you. Meanwhile, you’re in good hands with these guys.’

‘Okay.’ He didn’t sound very certain but no patient in shock ever did.

‘Fellas, we need to give the ambos some space to do their job.’

Dennis put his hand out towards Georgie. She wasn’t huge with the baby but as she’d been kneeling down for quite a while and her centre of balance was slightly off, she gratefully accepted his boost up.

They all walked into the dining room and while Dennis was giving her Mitch’s mother’s phone number, the plumber arrived.

‘Hey, Dennis, we’ve got a bit of a problem.’ Trevor rubbed his stubble-covered chin.

‘You think?’ replied the stressed-out builder. ‘My apprentice is going to hospital and we’ve got a bloody big hole in the kitchen ceiling.’

‘Yeah, I’ll buy that.’ Trevor puffed out an ironic laugh. ‘But this is a different problem and you’re not going to like it.’

Dennis opened another piece of nicotine gum and put it in his mouth with a sigh. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s asbestos around the pipes and I’ve had a good look around. It’s definitely in the walls as insulation and it might have been used in the roof.’

Dennis swore so violently that Georgie jumped.

‘Asbestos in the roof? Where Mitch was? In all that dust that just fell down on him and us?’ Georgie heard her rising incredulity but she didn’t wait for a reply. Running back to the kitchen she said, ‘Guys, possible asbestos contamination. Put on masks.’

The ambulance officers turned and stared at her and she found herself saying, ‘Sorry. No one knew.’

‘Lucky we travel with plenty of masks. Here.’ The younger officer dug into his kit. ‘Take one for everyone.’

‘Thanks.’ She took the masks and trudged back to the dining room, where she handed them out. ‘Please wear these.’

When she gave one to Dennis, his face told her what she already knew—she’d have to move out.

His voice was muffled behind the mask. ‘Doc, I’ll have to arrange for a licensed asbestos-removal company to deal with this before we can come back in and work.’

No need to panic yet. ‘And about how long will that take?’

‘To ring the company? Two minutes. Until they can actually come and do the job?’ He pulled on the scraggy ends of his beard. ‘This close to Christmas and with the entire building industry shutting down for its annual holiday at the end of next week …’ his shoulders rose and fell in defeat ‘… how long is a piece of string?’

She sucked in her lips and then breathed out slowly. ‘So you’re saying I might have to move out for more than a couple of days.’

‘It will probably be more like a month. I can’t really see this job happening until after New Year.’

Her mind grappled with dates. ‘So you mean totally finished by early January rather than in two weeks? I can move back in the moment the asbestos is gone, right?’

He sighed, his expression resigned. ‘I mean the asbestos will be removed early January and then we can come in and finish the job. Mid to late January.’

Her knees wobbled and she sat down on a chair as reality slugged her hard. She heard herself wail, ‘But the baby’s due on January twelfth.’

‘Sorry, Doc. I know you want everything perfect for when the baby comes, but babies don’t care about stuff like that. Hell, our firstborn slept in an old bottom drawer from a tallboy.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘We’d just moved again before the second and his room didn’t get painted until he was two.’

‘Dennis, if you’re trying to reassure me, it isn’t working.’ Logistics raced around her mind and her heart rate matched their speed. She’d planned to finish up at work at the end of the week and spend the ten days before Christmas removing building dust and setting up the nursery. Now she was effectively homeless for weeks. None of this had been part of the plan. None of it was supposed to be happening. She was always so well organised and now all her best-laid plans were dust. Asbestos dust.

She bit off the rising stream of expletives that begged to pour from her lips, not just because her builder didn’t need to know she could match him in that department but as part of practising for motherhood. Instead, she dropped her head in her hands and pressed her thumbs into her temples.

‘I’m sure your family would love to have you stay with them at Christmas and fuss over you,’ Dennis offered, hope in his voice.

‘They’re dead.’ The words shot out, unexpectedly harsh, driven by her lack of control over the mess that was her house and the fact that the festive season was always a tough time for her without her parents.

Dennis’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t know. Sorry, love.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Dennis.’ She sat up straight, pulling herself together. ‘You’re trying to help and I appreciate it, but all in all today pretty much sucks.’

‘Yeah, love, it does. How about you make this enforced time out of the house work for you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Take a bit of a holiday. Head down the coast because once the baby comes, you’re going to be busy.’

The coast. An idea pinged into her head so big, bright and shiny that it was the answer to her problem. She shot to her feet and hugged the brawny builder. ‘Dennis, you’re brilliant.’

He grinned. ‘Be sure to tell my wife that.’

She laughed. ‘I will. You go and make that phone call and I’ll go and pack a couple of suitcases.’

CHAPTER FOUR

HAMISH tipped the taxi driver and hefted his bag over his shoulder as he turned to gaze at the shimmering haze of purple blooms that illuminated the ancient jacaranda tree in his front garden. To him, the colour meant summer, Christmas and home. He still had the stench of Mumbai in his nostrils and he longed to replace it with the sharp tang of fresh salt air, but that would have to wait a bit longer, so for now he contented himself with a lungful of lemon-scented breeze, drifting over from the stand of white-barked eucalypts that grew across the road in the park.

Magpies, in their suits of black and white, stood on the nature strip, fixing their beady eyes on him and chortling as if acknowledging his absence and welcoming his return. He greeted them with a ‘Coodle-loodle-do’, fished his keys out of his backpack and bounded up the front steps. Sliding his key in the lock, he turned it, opened the door and called out, ‘Honey, I’m home.’ He promptly laughed at his own joke.

Twenty-four hours ago, just as he’d been preparing to leave India, he’d received a text from Georgie saying she hoped it was okay but she’d taken up his offer of a few days of R and R. He’d started texting his reply of ‘No worries’, but had stopped, deciding instead to surprise her. Although they’d been in contact with each other as much as usual, it had been a year since he’d last seen her—the afternoon she’d requested he be a sperm donor.

The fact they hadn’t seen each other was his fault. After his three trips to the IVF clinic in Tasmania, the need to move had been so great that he’d put his hand up to co-ordinate an extra mission for Giving Back. He’d flown out to Ethiopia for three months. During that time he’d been on tenterhooks waiting for her to tell him she was pregnant.

When it didn’t happen, the relief he’d experienced had been so strong and vibrant that he’d gone out and partied as if he’d just been reprieved from the gallows. He was off the hook. If she did get pregnant in the future, at least it wouldn’t be from his sperm.

His return from Abbis Ababa had coincided with Georgie leaving for a beach holiday on Hamilton Island and by the time she’d returned, he’d left for India. Throughout the year she’d continued to post on his internet social network page and send her usual entertaining emails filled with funny and unusual stories about her work. She was equally interested in hearing about the challenges he faced co-ordinating the overseas trips of doctors who volunteered for Giving Back.

One thing he was certain of was that had she achieved a pregnancy from his donation, there’d be no way she’d be taking a mini-break in his house. She’d been as adamant as he that the baby was hers and hers alone.

‘Hello? Who’s there? Haim?’

He heard the hesitancy in her voice—her concern he might be an intruder—immediately followed by the accompanying creak of the third stair, and then he caught a glimpse of a shapely, tanned ankle followed by a toned calf. He smiled—she’d always had good legs. ‘Yep, it’s me.’

The clack of her sandals against the stairs sped up and a moment later there she was with her arms wide open and a matching smile. ‘Welcome home.’

The bag he’d anchored on his shoulder with his hand slipped past suddenly numb fingers, falling with a dull thud onto the floorboards as shock sucked the breath from his lungs. He instinctively shook his head as if the action would force his retinas to change the image. This couldn’t be Georgie.

Apart from her voice, nothing about her was remotely familiar and he barely recognised her. Gone was her short-cropped hair and in its place a long, glossy, caramel-brown ponytail swept across her shoulders in a caress of curls. Her face, which had always seemed slightly too long for her, was now round and full. In fact, all of her was round and full. A white sundress fell from decorative shoulder straps, flowing across voluptuous breasts before cascading over a high and round belly and swirling against the enticing tilt of her hips, a curvaceous behind and firm thighs. She seemed taller, more sure of herself, and a secret smile played about her lips as if she knew things that others could never understand. She was a Botticelli woman—lush, fertile and glowing.

A thundering wave of pure sexual energy rode off her, spinning him into its orbit and rolling him inside its core. His groin tightened as a wondrous hot bolt of anticipation and excitement pounded through him—the same one he experienced whenever he saw a hot woman that he wanted. A familiar craving followed. A craving he greeted like an old but absent friend because for months it had rarely stirred, giving him an unfamiliar dry spell.

A second later his brain caught up with his body, its reaction horrified and stunned.

This is Georgie. Georgie. We ‘re platonic. We made that decision years ago.

His body gave him the finger. It didn’t care who she was, only that she was all woman and it wanted some of it. ‘You …’ His voice cracked over the husky word and he cleared his throat. ‘You look good.’

‘Thanks. I feel great and it was a good excuse for me to get a whole new wardrobe.’ Her velvet-brown eyes sparkled and her hand lightly caressed her belly, her palm cupping its rolling shape.

His gaze followed her movement and again his blood quickened, surging as another wave of need pulsed through him, numbing his brain. He couldn’t construct a thought. Hell, he could barely see. He bit the inside of his cheek, needing the physical pain to short-circuit his arousal and get himself under control. His feet felt like lead weights glued to the floor and it was Georgie who leaned in, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. Her belly brushed gently against his stomach, the touch like an electric shock, jolting him out of the fog that had overtaken him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.